


Agree to Disagree

by xByDefault



Series: Controversy [1]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, family is the worst, female OCs - Freeform, first and second gen Íþróttaálfurinn are two separate individuals, latent magic Robbie, lots of nordic history no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-11-06 21:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 82,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11044587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xByDefault/pseuds/xByDefault
Summary: Glanni is a wild card at the best of times, at the worst - he's an unhinged mad man with kleptomania.But, if Robbie's going pull this off he's going to need his "unique" qualities."/.../ What do you say about crashing a wedding?"





	1. Chapter 1. Act 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie just want to watch his telly in peace. The kids are making that impossible.

Robbie wasn’t entirely sure which day of the week today was. He hadn’t been up and about for a great while and the days started to blur together after the third show season in front of his beloved TV. Anybody who claimed that binge watching soup operas was not serious business was misinformed and had not yet had the pleasure to meet one Mr. Robbie Rotten.

He struggled with prying open the hatch to the entry of his lair. Had the door become heavier than usual? What had people been up to? Putting rocks on the lid, he wondered. That type of scheme was up Robbie’s ally, well, used to be up his ally. He was starting to go soft, and not in the good physical way from overindulging in pastries.

Oh, this had to be a Wednesday. Yes, a Wednesday definitively. Only the third day of the week could be this heinous.

Finally, he got enough leverage to get the lid off and the door hatch opened with a screeching noise. No stones or weights blocking the hatch then, just good old rust from negligence. He would have to do something about that before the whole thing rusted shut, Robbie idly noted. He squinted at the onslaught of sun in the clear blue sky and seethed.

Truthfully, the only reason he had bothered to make the tiresome journey up the shaft to brave the outdoors was, as per usual now, caused by the ruckus of the town’s younger members. The screaming had been particularly loud this time and not all of it gleeful. Couldn’t they just hit puberty already and go back to being moody and lazy. Now, Robbie could definitively relate to the young people, if said young people were exactly like him. Alas, the little monsters had yet some time left to go before their new awkward phase in life began.

 

Following the noise that had drawn him out of the comfort of his home, he eventually found the source being a game of frisbee in the park. So much ear-splitting noise for a disc? This could have been a quiet serene game, but no, apparently at some point or the other there had been some new rule added to scream like banshees. Currently, the pig tailed rude girl and the rich boy were having a tug of war over one of the frisbees.

“It’s mine!”

“Leggo Stingy,” the girl snarled in his face, “you’ve had the frisbee for four turns! Besides, it’s mine now,” she tugged hard enough for the boy to lose his balance and come tumbling with the disc in the girl’s grip.

“No,” he screamed, still not letting go and ended up getting dragged along in the dirt after her, “never!”

“Guys! C’mon, that’s enough,” a pleading tenor voice added in to the mix, trying to be heard over the shouting. Ah, there he was, the bane of Robbie’s existence. Sportacus, the wonder with a pencil mustache and stupid hat.

The short man, judging by his tired exasperation and ‘ _now, now children_ _’_ hand waving, was trying to defuse the situation.

And utterly failing at it. Robbie would have to take matters into his own hands. Cursing under his breath about incompetent health nuts, sometimes if you wanted something done, you had to wrangle it by the neck yourself and give a good shake.

“Robbie Rotten!” Yup, that was definitively Pinkie’s disapproving voice presenting his arrival, he thought, as he marched over to them. The ever-present pink girl, Stephanie. Where Sportacus was, you could find her tagging along. For now, he didn’t pay her any attention. Lest he’d end up further encouraging her behavior.

“Hey, you two, Icky and Sticky!”

The two fighting children turned their heads up to the towering figure over them. Robbie had his hands on his hips, puffing his chest out. “You have until five to make up, or I’m taking that thing from you.”

“But, it’s mine.”

“It’s my turn.”

“You know what, I changed my mind, no one but me gets the frisbee!” Robbie wrenched the disc free out of their death grips under loud protests.

“Sportacus do something, he’s taking our frisbee!”

“Oh, so now you consider it shared property?” Robbie held it to his chest, “well, too late, suckers. No one gets the frisbee now.”

All three of the children turned to Sportacus with pleading eyes.

The man shrugged, “I don’t agree with the method, but I think Robbie has a point.”

“Wait, really?” all, including Robbie himself, cried out.

“If neither Trixie or Stingy can share the frisbee,” Sportacus explained, “then maybe the two of them need a time out so they can think this over.”

“Aaaaw,” both Trixie and Stingy whined as they trudged over to a nearby tree which, not until now Robbie noticed, was already occupied by the last two remaining hooligans. Sitting on a blanket under it was the gamer kid, playing a hand-held game. Peering over his shoulder was the youngest of the bunch, suckling on a sugary treat. The older boy kept swatting at the younger to stop getting sticky sugar residue on him while both were engrossed over whatever was on the small screen. Oh, how misfortune Robbie was that not all the town’s children had that kind of morale. The previously quarreling pair flopped down on each side of the occupants, facing away from each other in angry huffs.

Sportacus nudged his pink haired companion gently, “Stephanie, why don’t you join the other’s and I will be with you shortly?”

The girl nodded and skipped over to her friends, not before giving Robbie the stink eye of course. Robbie answered her in kind.

“Robbie, would you mind walking with me a bit?”

 

Robbie could have looked Sportacus dead in his big blue eyes and said no. Robbie could have laughed in the other man’s stupid face. Robbie… followed Sportacus up a nearby hill overlooking the park.

He made a point to complain loudly the whole way up though, for principle’s sake. The view up top was nice, he guessed.

 

“If you’re expecting me to give the frisbee back to you, you can forget about it.”

“That’s alright, Robbie. You can keep it,” Sportacus said.

“Just like that?” he asked. “Did you spend your whole budget on sports equipment?”

Instead of an answer, Robbie found himself on the receiving end of one of Sportacus infuriating smiles. This was weird. Sportacus was being weird-er.

“What do you look so happy about? I ruined your game, ergo, I win.”

“Actually, I wanted to thank you for getting between Trixie and Stingy. Those two can be a handful sometimes,” Sportacus smile faltered, “but I really mean it when I say I don’t approve of how you decided to do it.”

“You were doing a mighty awful job out of it and you know it. One of us had to get their hands dirty,” Robbie snorted, “who better than the villain?”

This rewarded him with a wince from the other man, “Robbie, you’re not a bad guy.”

“Believe that if it’ll makes you sleep better at night in that flying death trap. Trust me, one of these days, I will come up with a scheme so brilliant, that you’ll never known what hit you.”

“It’s a blimp, Robbie.”

“Whatever.”

“But anyways, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s not like you ooze enough authority to quell them when they get rough, Sportadork.”

Sportacus’ brow creased and he pursed his lips. Puzzled, he asked, “what do you mean?”

“Look,” he tried to pick his next choice of words, “you’re more or less running a non-profit day care service. Watching the kids while their adults are off to who knows where. You’re not an authorial figure. At best, you’re the funny uncle-figure that plays games with them and once every blue moon comes with sagely advice, which, “Robbie added, “most of the times flies over their heads.” He continued, gesturing to the buildings behind them, “nevertheless, at the end of the day they go home to their families and the people that actually have an impact on them.” Robbie tapped the frisbee to the side of his head, “unless you’re me of course. I know how to curb them.”

“I’m not trying to curb them,” Sportacus rebuked. “I’m trying to inspire them to be healthy and have fun.”

“See, that’s exactly what I mean. You egg them on, encouraging them to be noisy and running all over the place like a pack of... I don’t know. Like a pack of Chimpanzees.”

“Robbie! That’s not a very nice thing to say,” the other man protested.

“Don’t tell me that they weren’t acting like it when I got here.”

Sportacus mustache twitched as he let a small chuckle escape at that, “they were, weren’t they?”

Their conversation dropped off into awkward silence. A slight breeze rustled in the grass. His nose twitched. Robbie realized that this was probably the longest they had ever talked to each other and without any disguise to hide behind too.

Well, this was awkward. What were the social guidelines for forced small talk? Should he make a hasty retreat?

 _Should he talk about the weather_?

 

Nah.

 

“So… Sportadufus, it’s been nice and all, but I-“

“It’s rather nice outside today, don’t you agree?” Sportacus said, seemingly oblivious to Robbie’s attempt at escaping with dignity intact. And, oh dear, _no_. Sportacus was a talk about the weather type of guy. He was looking out over the park and didn’t see the rapid series of grimaces on Robbie’s face. Or the man was simply used to Robbie’s tics and didn’t care by this point.

Robbie looked out over the scenery before them. The sun was shining, its stinging in his eyes had somewhat eased up after he’d gotten used to it. The park was lush and green. There were blossoms here and there, creating a colorful floral display, before the summer heat killed off most of it. Various small birds were screeching their lungs out in search for someone to mate with. Further beyond the sparse trees he could make out cultivation fields and pastures. No matter which way you turned in LazyTown, you would always be able to catch a glimpse of endless fields. And if not, then the faint odor of manure would remind you of them.

The reason that Robbie liked living in LazyTown so much was because it was considered a commuter town. It was located smack dab in the middle of nowhere, or as the locals so picturesquely called it; _The Countryside_. Modern day LazyTown consisted of nearly nothing but commuters that worked in the neighboring cities. Which meant that it, besides the mayor’s office and handful of farmers working the fields, was a ghost town during the day and Robbie was free to enjoy it to the fullest without human interaction. If the residents somehow thought that driving for two hours back and forth each day was a bargain, then who was he to argue? He was the one reaping the benefits of peace and quiet in the end. Not that it had been peaceful nor quiet ever since Sportacus had turned up. Nowadays, he couldn’t nap on a park bench in peace, or even take a lazy stroll to the store in the afternoon in fear of getting hit in the head by a wayward ball.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” he finally stated, dryly.

Sportacus turned back to Robbie, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by the children, who had grown tired of waiting and were now crying for the return of their mustached hero.

“Sportacus, I thought that you said you would be with us shortly?” Stephanie was shouting at them.

“Sorry, got to go,” Sportacus said sheepishly. He started jogging back down to the park, shouting over his shoulder, “I’ll see you around, Robbie. And don’t hide away in that bunker for so long again, it’s not healthy!” Oh great, he was keeping tabs on him and judging.

“It’s a lair, Dumbo!”

“Whatever!”

 

The man had the nerve to laugh.

 

Robbie dropped the frisbee in a bin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sistine Chapel is missing an angel and frankly, they prefer it that way.

Seeing each other around happened much sooner than Robbie would have preferred. Already the following day they ran into each other.

 

Not figuratively. Literally.

 

Robbie was staring up at the clouds unable to get up after having the air knocked out of him. His ears were filled with a far too familiar awful beeping. Just as he was getting his bearings to start cussing, two strong hands hauled him back up onto his feet. “I am so very sorry Robbie! Are you alright? I didn’t see you,” Sportacus dusted off Robbie, checking if any serious damage had come to him. “I got to go. My crystal, someone is in trouble. Bye,” he chattered and disappeared in a blue blur before Robbie could even process the words.

“Wait what, hang on there a second, mister!” One moment, Robbie was going to the hardware store, minding his own business. The next, he’d been bulldozed, had his personal space bombarded by his perpetrator and then to top it off, the man had gotten his hands all over him. Robbie felt nine different levels of violated. He made pursuit in the general direction of where Sportacus had run off to, to give him a piece of his mind. This was exactly the kind of harassment Robbie had had to endure for years now, and he'd had it with it. Someone had better be in rather serious trouble, or they’d damn well would have to wait their turn until Robbie was through with the town’s hero.

Sportacus hadn’t gotten far. In fact, Robbie accidentally bumped into him as soon as he rounded the corner of the town hall. Sportacus was standing with his back against him, one hand on his hip and the other clasping his forehead. Robbie looked further ahead to see what had caused Sportacus to look so awed. Then up. And up. And a little way more up.

His breath hitched.

 

When the cherubs in heaven were created, this one had evidently drawn the short straw. Instead of rosy red cheeks, his face was just… red… and round. He had a mop of hay colored hair in place of golden locks, was buck toothed, sported an underbite and small beady eyes. The unfortunate child would never grow into anything resembling handsome. As it was right now it was a stretch calling it cute in a pitying way. But, Sportacus seemed to have a soft spot for the sugar addicted runt.

Said runt was now high up in a tree, whimpering. How he had made it all the way up there was beyond him. This wasn’t any old tree. This was the tallest oldest tree in the town.

 

“Help me, Sportacus,” Ziggy squeaked from his perch, hugging a branch for dear life.

“Ok, first I got to know,” Robbie answered him instead, “how the heck did you get up there?”

He heard a muffled “baby bird,” and “nest,” and put two and two together. He had found a bird that had fallen out of its nest and decided to help it back. That would explain Sportacus’ endearment for the child. He was overenthusiastic about everything, hyper and wanted to be a freaking hero. Ziggy was a mini-Sportacus.

Robbie couldn’t help but grin and elbow Sportacus, “he takes after you.”

Sportacus gave Robbie a look that said, ‘ _I am very, oh so very, disappointed in you_ ’. Or at least that’s how Robbie interpreted it as. It could just as well have said, ‘ _shut it, Robbie_ _’_.

“Stay calm, Ziggy. We’ll get you down!” Sportacus shouted.

Robbie mouthed a, “ _we?_ ” at Sportacus. Now this look he received was pure text book pleading. Robbie groaned to the heavens, “what do you suggest?”

“He’s too far high up for him to jump and me safely catching him. Even if I caught him, the impact from that would be too much of a risk.”

“No kidding.”

“I can’t climb all the way up to him. I think I’m too heavy for the upper levels of branches.”

Sportacus circled the tree trunk and stopped in his tracks. “I know! I’ll use the blimp.”

“Great, then what did you need me for?”

“I want you to keep Ziggy company while I fetch the blimp,” he said and turned to the distressed child. “Don’t worry Ziggy! I have a plan!”

And off he was again.

Robbie found himself left in the dust alone under the tree. This was not how he had planned his day.

 

“You hanging in there, kiddo?” Robbie asked. Not that he particularly needed to know, this was merely to make time pass faster than standing quietly around. He could see that Ziggy was, all things considered, unharmed. Just scared out of his mind.

“Robbie, I need Sportacus,” the child whined.

“He’s on his way.”

Where was Sportacus anyway? This was taking a ridiculous amount of time.

“I want Sportacus,” Ziggy sniffled and buried his face from view.

Robbie groaned in frustration. He had better things to do, damn it all. He had a schedule of napping, then fudge cake, followed by channel surfing and more naps. That did not leave room for standing around like an unhelpful muppet, while waiting for Sportacus to save yet another resident from their own doing. 

 

And that thought led him to a revelation on how to sort the problem out. To hell with waiting for Sportacus, Robbie could solve this himself.

“You know what? I think that if you could climb all that way up,” he said, “then you can climb your way down too! I’m tired of waiting around for the cavalry. I’m leaving,” he spun on his heel and took a deliberate long step away from the trunk, “good day to you!”

“Wait, no! Robbie, don’t go!” Ziggy shrieked in pure terror. “Please, don’t leave me alone!”

Robbie smirked, the runt had taken his bait. “Okay then, but you have to do exactly as I tell you, or I’m gone.”

“Anything! I’ll!.. I’ll even give you all my best candy!”  

“Deal! Now, what I want, is for you to scoot back towards where you got on that branch, back to the main branch.”

“I don’t think I can do that, Robbie! I’m scared!”

“Does it look like I care?” he growled. “Yes, of course you can! Shuffle back slowly until your rear hits the main branch.”

Ziggy wiggled backwards, clinging to the branch and screwing his eyes shut.

“Okay, great,” Robbie encouraged when Ziggy reached the fork of the branch. “Now, I want you to straighten up and hook your leg around it… Just like that, you’re doing great Ziggy!”

Had it been Robbie that’s been stuck up there, this plan would never had stood a chance against his crippling fear of heights. Sure, the child was scared witless, but Robbie would have gone catatonic with acrophobia.

“Hang onto that new branch like it was your favorite lolly with your arms and legs… Good, good. Ziggy, you’re doing awesome… Shuffle down one bit at the time… That’s it, buddy, easy does it... Now, do the same with that other upcoming branch.”

The further down Ziggy made his way, the easier it became. By the lowest branches, he didn’t even need any guidance from Robbie. The child hit the ground running and hugged him. “I did it! I did it!”

“Hnngh, fantastic. Could you, perhaps, not touch me?”

And of course, that’s when Sportacus _finally_ decided to show up. Robbie could see the moment of alarm on his face when the hatch opened and Ziggy wasn’t where he had anticipated him.  The wide-eyed look got replaced by relief when Ziggy let go of Robbie and started shouting and waving up at Sportacus.

“I’m here Sportacus! I did it! I climbed down all by myself!”

“That’s great Ziggy,” he grinned, “I’ll come right down!”

Robbie shrieked and covered Ziggy’s eyes when the man _threw himself out of the blimp_. Next thing, Sportacus had deployed a parachute and landed softly in front of them with a thud. Robbie let go of Ziggy, who ran up to Sportacus to hug him as well.

“Are you actively trying to give me a heart attack?” he wheezed, clutching at his chest. He had to steady himself against the tree trunk. “You could have warned us before you did that!”

“Oh, sorry.” At least Sportacus had the sense to look apologetic.

“Ziggy peered back at Robbie, “Sportacus does these awesome hero stunts all the time. He’s amazing.”

“Amazing,” Robbie repeated, while trying to put as much emphasis on just how little he thought it was. “Ziggy, there is one more thing you must do for me.”

“Yes, anything.” The child went roly-polying back to Robbie.

Robbie bent down on one knee to get on the same eye level, clasped Ziggy’s shoulders.

 

And started shaking him by them.

 

Sportacus jolted, ready to snatch Ziggy away from Robbie, but refrained from it when Robbie started talking.

“Promise me that you’ll never _ever_ do anything like that again!”

Okay, maybe yelling in Ziggy’s round face wasn’t the greatest idea, but heck, he needed to instill some fear of consequence in him.

“Climbing down?” his eyes were wide and distressed, “but I thought I did great?”

“And you did. I’m talking about why you climbed up there in the first place.”

“But the baby bird-”

“I don’t care. You should have called for an adult when you first found it. If you see a bird that’s fallen out of its nest, or any other hurt critter, you do what?”

His voice was very small, “call for an adult.”

“Exactly.”

“But Sportacus saves animals in need all the time.”

“Remember about me not caring? Yeah, I don’t care. Sportadork is special, okay? He’s a soft hearted dunce with abilities that no one else in LazyTown has.”

Sportacus went still. “Robbie, where are you going with this?” he asked warily.

“But, Sportacus said that if I start small,” Ziggy sniffled, “I can one day become just like him.”

Robbie spared a fleeting glance up at Sportacus. “Did he now? I’m sorry to break this to you, but I don’t think he was totally honest.”

“Robbie,” Sportacus warned.

Ziggy looked between Robbie and Sportacus. “Is it because he’s an adult?”

“No, I’m an adult and I couldn’t even dream about pulling off the stuff he does. He’s… He’s a super hero.”

“Slightly above average hero,” Ziggy corrected.

Robbie continued anyway, “and sometimes we normal people have to make do with what we got. Also, climbing that tree doesn’t make you a hero. It just makes you plain stupid.” He let go of the child. “Skedaddle now. Go back to your noisy little friends,” Robbie shooed him off, “and don’t think that I’ve forgotten about that deal. All your best candy is forfeit.”

Ziggy gave him an affirming, if somewhat reluctant response and scampered off to wherever small trouble makers flocked, until they decided that LazyTown had been calm for far too long. Give or take half an hour.

 

“Robbie, you are sometimes quite mean,” said Sportacus.

“Thank you, I do try my best,” Robbie replied, puffing his chest out.

He turned back to Sportacus, who was making quick work of collecting the parachute of the ground and stuffing it back in a compartment in his west with an audible zip. Robbie noted Sportacus’ agitation and couldn’t help himself from uttering the next words. “Don’t get your panties in a knot. You thought I was going to out you as an elf to him, weren’t you?”

Sportacus head snapped back to Robbie so fast he was sure he heard a crack. And oh, did he wish he had a camera on him to immortalize the flabbergasted look on Sportacus’ face.

“Wait, so you actually knew,” he sputtered, “how?”

“I wasn’t born and raised in a barn. I knew what to look for, you’re not so sneaky as you’d like to think you are.” Robbie gesticulated to Sportacus' face, and said, “you’re about as easy to read as a kid’s picture book. Just now for example. The moment I implied that you were anything other than just a good Samaritan, all this,” Robbie flicked his wrist, and retracted his hand, “went haywire, screaming _guilty_. You really need to work on your poker face.”

Robbie mused aloud, “although, if you thought that your little secret was intact.” He tapped his chin, giving Sportacus a once over, “then, why were you so afraid that I’d tell him?”

“I didn’t know for sure, I never really know where I have you,” Sportacus confessed. “I didn’t know if you knew, how much you knew, or how you’d use that information.”

“Like I need another reason for the hooligans to love you even more,” Robbie scoffed. “They’d probably be over the moon if they found out.”

The other man eyed him with skepticism. “Not everyone would.”

“Regardless, I’m not telling a soul in town. And if it’s any comfort, no one else here is as fast on the uptake as yours truly.”

The other seemed to consider Robbie’s words, his mustache twitching actively, which was a sure tell-tale sign of Sportacus thinking very hard on something. Robbie found it unnerving, nothing good ever came out of the man’s introspections.

“Do you want to know how he really got down?” Robbie decided to change the course of whatever Sportacus was thinking.

He inspected the tree. “How did he really get down?”

Robbie gave him his best cocky smile. “It was simple. I told him to do it,” he said. “With a little help of emotional manipulation.”

Sportacus looked anything but impressed with Robbie’s feat. “That’s not very safe. Those upper branches were weak, Robbie. They could have snapped. And what would you have done then?” He locked eyes with him at that.

Robbie deeply regretted his previous idea to change topic. “You’re the one who indirectly encouraged him to climb up in the first place,” he protested. He wouldn’t take the blame for something he hadn’t done wrong, “because _apparently_ , you throw yourself out of high heights on a daily basis and do all kinds of dangerous stuff that they want to mimic. And in the end, the kid got down on his own without doing a single backflip, or somersault.”

 

The other man crossed his arms and looked down at the ground in defeat.

“Oh, cheer up, Sporty,” Robbie patted his back. Half mock reassuring, half genuine. “At least he’s safe. Plus, despite my best efforts, you’ll be around to save him for another day.”

“Actually, Robbie,” Sportacus brushed his hand off him.

Uh oh.

This couldn’t be good.

 

“I’m leaving.”

 

He felt like he had been bulldozed for the second time that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankfully, I dislike cliff-hangers as much as the next guy so the third chapter will be up very soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things that are big: Blue whales. The Dubai Mall. Sportacus’ mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting Sports' POV.

Sportacus was beginning to fear that he’d accidentally broken the self-proclaimed villain when Robbie had been staring at him in shock for what had to be a full minute.

 

“Wait, so you’re leaving LazyTown?” Robbie had found his voice again. “As in, flying that blimp far, far away from here?”

“Yes Robbie, far, far away from here.” He added with a sigh, “I’m going home.”

Robbie threw his arms out, “but, _why_?!”

“Does it matter? I didn’t want to tell you like this, I’m really sorry. Look, I won’t be leaving until a couple of weeks anyway. The children's school is hosting a play and I thought I’d at least stay until after that. Could you please keep this to yourself, until I’ve had a chance to tell them myself?” Sportacus pleaded. “I, uhm, should be going.” Sportacus didn’t want to stay around, he had on an ill-advised whim told Robbie, of all the people, and created a mess.

Robbie disagreed on letting Sportacus off easy. “No, no, nouh! You don’t’ get to drop something like that on me and then run away without an explanation!” Robbie was now pacing in front of him, doing a rather convincing impression of a windmill gone wild. He stopped and jabbed a long finger at Sportacus' chest. Hard. “I have been your _nemesis_ for years!” He jabbed hard to punctuate each word, “I,” jab. “Deserve,” jab. “Better,” and one final jab at Sportacus' chest, who was starting to feel he would find a bruise there later.

“Okay, okay.”

“Well then, out with it.”

“I’m thinking on how to tell you this.”

“I swear-”

“Alright,” he mentally braced himself. “I’m getting married.”

 

This time Sportacus was sure he had broken Robbie. The man was looking down at him with his pale eyes like he’d grown a second head.

“Could we talk about this somewhere else than here?”

Robbie nodded dumbly, seemingly in a daze. Sportacus wished he could read Robbie’s mind right now. Truthfully, after all of Robbie’s attempts to drive him out of LazyTown, he had expected some other kind of reaction from the tall lanky man, not this silent stupor. When it became evident that Robbie was in too much of a daze to keep up, he took him by the hand and led him somewhere more secluded. Away from the proximity of the town hall. Last thing Sportacus wanted right now was risking anyone else overhearing. Especially Ms. Busybody. If she found out, then the whole town would be buzzing within the hour.

Scanning the area, he eventually found a suitable place. This park bench would have to do. He gently tugged Robbie along with him and sat him down first and seated himself next to him. Robbie rested his chin on his fingertips and stared at the ground. His nose was twitching furiously.

“I know that this is a lot to take in.”

“Sportacus, believe me when I say that this is an understatement,” Robbie kept staring at the ground, "but, I’m pretty mad at you.”

He was somewhat baffled at the response. “You’re angry?”

“Are you kidding me?” Robbie whipped his head to glare at him. “I am positively seething with rage right now! All these years. Trying my damnest to drive you out of my town. And all it took was some tail to sent you packing.” Robbie dragged his hands over his face, “this is an offense. _I_ am _offended!"_

“She is not just some tail, Robbie. She’s a very dear childhood friend of mine.” Sportacus felt insulted by the degrading term. That was beneath even Robbie.

“Yeah, I can only imagine.” Robbie leered, “the two of you cartwheeling through the fields into the sunset. Did you braid each other flower crowns and promise to marry when you grew up? Because that’s the kind of inane way I expect it to have gone down.”

“We used to go rock climbing, so no fields. And no, we did not get engaged like that. It was more of a family matter,” he trailed off.

Robbie blinked. “Come again?”

Oh, he shouldn’t had said that, should he?

“She and I were great friends, okay? We got along and our parents thought when we had grown up that it would be a splendid idea if we-”

Robbie interjected, “we have another word for it here, you know? It’s called _Arranged Marriage_!”

“It’s nothing like that,” he protested.

“It’s exactly like that! If family gets involved playing matchmakers with their kids, it’s an arranged union.”

This irritated Sportacus, “you act as if a didn’t have a say in this.” Not much got under his skin but even he had limits. “They suggested it, asked us what we thought of it. At the end of the day our, _my,_ decision mattered.”

“Alright, alright,” Robbie yielded. Quieter, he solemnly added, “I’m sorry. If it’s really what you want, then I won’t fight you.”

“Thank you, Robbie.”

“So, what’s the lucky girls name?”

“Frída.”

“Good to hear that not all elves give their children stupid names.”

Sportacus laughed, “glad someone else agrees.”

“Seriously, what were your parents thinking?” the other started snickering.

“You will have to ask my father about that.”

They both started laughing like they had lost their minds and until tears were spilling from their eyes. Sportacus felt like someone had popped a bubble and released the tension between the two of them. A great sense of relief that someone else knew everything and that, that person was Robbie. Even if it did not happen the way he’d wanted to, he was now glad that Robbie was the first to know.

He sobered a bit, “but please, don’t call me an elf.”

Might as well get this out of the way, if Robbie apparently had known all this time.

“But isn’t that what you are?” Robbie wiped his eyes.

“Yes, but others calling us by it is taboo. There is power in a name. We prefer that humans call us huldu, or huldufólk. It’s more of a safe umbrella term.”

“What does it mean?”

“Unseen people, or hidden people.”

“Because you hide in plain sight?”

“Modern day elves do, back in the day we literally hid.”

“I don’t fully understand, but I can smell stigma from a mile away, so I’ll just leave it be. Is there anything else that I can call you?”

“Call me for what you always have and for what I am,” Sportacus said, smiling, “a man.”

“Gotcha.”

 

They sat on their shared bench in comfortable silence.

Robbie was the first to break it and speak up, “I’m surprised you could sit still for this long.”

“I can, I just don’t like being idle.”

“Well, don’t let me hold you back. Shoo, away with you!”

“You sure?”

“Yep, you're probably itching to flip flop around somewhere else and I,” he stood up and picked imaginary lint off his suit, “am going to go and ensure that the runt makes good on his promise.”

“All those sweets aren’t healthy for you.”

“Would you rather the kid ate them all for himself then?”

Sportacus admitted defeat. At least Robbie was an adult, though he rarely acted like it, and who was well allowed to make his own conscious decisions. Regardless if those decisions were to gorge himself on processed sugar and greasy fast food. The man must have an insane metabolism, he’d never seen anyone with such an awful diet and stay relatively thin. With his unhealthy eating habits and aversion to physical activity, Robbie should be looking like Mayor Meanswell. Though you could not judge health by physique alone. Robbie’s liver could be suffering severely from trying to keep up with breaking down the sugar. But, perhaps it was better that Robbie had the candy and not Ziggy. He could always encourage Ziggy to exchange his lost candy with fruits, nuts and veggies. Meanwhile, Robbie had a tendency to sneer and look at you like you had offended his mother if you so hinted that he’d try a vegetable.

That’s saying if Robbie even had a mother, Sportacus assumed that he must have come from somewhere.

He stretched. It felt good getting to move around again. “I’ll let you get to it.” He winked, “but I should tell you that some of his favorite candy are sportscandy.” Ah, there was that sneer again. Sportacus chuckled and bid his farewell.

 

He took off back to his blimp, he added a few extra spins in his handsprings to get rid of excess energy. If his landing was a little shaky he could blame it on not being fully there in mind. The ladder descended when called for, Sportacus examined the branch Ziggy had previously occupied and did indeed note a small birds nest with a half-grown fieldfare glaring back at him, it started chirping at him for food. It was big enough to make it on its own very soon and had probably started practicing its flying capacity. Robbie had been right in telling Ziggy the next time he saw one he should call for an adult to assess the situation. Sportacus should probably have a talk with all of the kids about it.

The bird kept chirping loudly at him as he continued his climb upwards. Speaking of Robbie, the man was full of surprises and quite unpredictable at the best of times, but he had his moments of reason too as well, if somewhat in a cynic roundabout way. “Apple!” And the fact that he had known about Sportacus being an elf and kept it for himself for who knows how long was… A bit unsettling. He recalled that Robbie had called him an elf at some point, insinuating that the children called him that behind his back. It was just another one of Robbie’s schemes in the end, but maybe he had already figured it out back then. He took a bite out of the fruit, he’d have to ask him the next time they met. Sportacus would soon have to inform the rest of the town of his impending departure too. He didn’t look forward to it.

It was getting late, he should start preparing for bed, right after he’d set the blimp on auto-pilot and replied to the latest correspondence from his family. Written in his native tongue, he read the letter;

_Sportacus dear, hope you are doing well. Spring is in the air and quite literal at that. Your uncle is at it with the terns_ _‘again_ _’. Fr_ _ída, that darling, is trying to make him stay away from their nesting grounds. But you know how it is here. You can_ _’t take a step without ending up in the middle of one. She is looking forward to seeing you again, we all are. Your father sends his regards and asks if you have started to prepare for your return._

_Love,_

_Your mother._

Sportacus laughed under his breath at the first part, his uncle was probably on an angry tirade about being fly bombed by awful screeching sea birds whenever he stuck his head out the door. It was an annual tradition at this point. At the name of his future spouse he felt a knot in his stomach tighten. He was excited about meeting her again too. They did get along well, he… Just never had considered her in a romantic way, until his parents had brought it up. Their parents had asked Frída first and she had not rejected the idea, in fact she had been quite excited by it, from what they had told him. And then they had asked Sportacus. It was true that he had the last say in this. He could easily have said no and be done with it. But, if he was being honest with himself. He didn’t want to disappoint them and he had been on his own for a long time now. Maybe it was time to settle down and who better than with someone that he had known since he learned how to do a somersault? And thus, he had said yes. Sportacus got his pen.

 

_Dear mother (and father, I know you will read this too), I am getting around to preparing for my return._

 

_I told one of the locals the news and he did not take them well, at all. May need time for re- consideration._

 

Yeah, no. 

 

He erased the last part and started again.

_Thank you for the update from home. I am excited to see you all again. Send frændi Íþró and Frída_ _my love and tell them I will be seeing them soon enough._

_Love,_

_Sportacus._

 

He sent the letter on its way and looked out the helm of the blimp. In the distance, he could see dark rain clouds rolling in over LazyTown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should space my updates evenly, I said. I should make it so that I have time to finish chapters in time between said updates, I said.
> 
> Whelp.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie blows the lid. No, not like that.

Sportacus breathed deep in through his nose. The air was humid and thick with the smell of fresh grass and lilacs. He relished in the warmth from the sun on his damp skin and grinned. The following days since he had last spoken to Robbie had been cold and dreadful with a seemingly endless downpour. He had not seen hair nor hide of the tall strange man during those days and assumed that Robbie had yet again holed up in his home. The rest of the town residents had pretty much done the same while they waited for the bad weather to pass. He hoped that he was alright down there.

The children had occasionally braved the rain, dressed in raincoats, boots and colourful umbrellas. On expeditions of frog watching in an attempt to study nature and the occasional puddle jumping, by mostly Trixie and himself. Though their excursions were short and sporadic, he would never dream of forcing them outside and was happy that they had been outdoors at all, rather than staying inside.

Today was the first day in nearly a week that the sun was out and all the towns children were outside together, even Pixel, to Sportacus' delight. They had been playing a game of soccer, with extra performance points for dribbling the ball round the remaining rain puddles, and at the end of their game most of them were covered in mud and grime from head to toe. Tired, but happy nonetheless.

It was the children’s topic of choice that had brought Sportacus’ thoughts back to Robbie, when Stingy had pointed out the man’s absence. Sure, he could disappear for days if he was left undisturbed, but Sportacus did agree that they had been somewhat loud. Something that always guaranteed that Robbie, in one form or the other, would make an appearance.

“Isn’t it weird, though?” Pixel kept kicking the ball down the street. “I mean, we haven’t seen Robbie all day.”

Trixie dribbled the ball off Pixel, “I’m sure he’s just sulking at home being a sour puss.”

“Trixie,” Sportacus tried to caution her.

“What?” she said. “He kind of is.”

“It’s still not a nice thing to say about someone. Especially behind their back. It's very hurtful.”

The girl nodded, Sportacus could only hope that she took it to heart.

“Still, he usually turns up to complain at the very least,” Stingy continued their musings.

The other chimed in, it was a bit odd.

That’s when there was a loud bang in the distance that startled them all. Trixie let out a cry of surprise.

Pixel and Stingy turned their heads in alarm, “what was that?” The reverberation made it hard to pin point the source, but Sportacus had an inkling of where it could have originated from.

Stephanie pointed up at something in the air, “look up there!”

Sportacus shielded his eyes and looked at where she was pointing. Up high in the air was a strange sphere-shaped object getting flung higher and higher, until it reached its peak and came back towards the ground in an arch. Sportacus’ crystal started flashing and make a harrowing loud alarm. He understood that wherever that strange object was heading, it was not going to end well. “Someone’s in trouble,” he said and he started running. The group of children tried to run after and keep up with him, but lost the man after he vaulted over a high wall. Sportacus put all effort into beating the falling object to its soon to be crashing site, creating his own short cuts, going over any physical obstacle, than wasting precious seconds going round.

He followed its arch to Ms. Busybody’s residence and spotted her tending to her flowers. He went in low, catching her around the middle and took her out of the object’s path. Ms. Busybody’s surprised scream got muffled by his body as he tackled her down and shielded her away from the impact. Right where the older woman had stood seconds ago, was now a minor crater for better words. Dirt and flowers scattered in clumps around the hole.

“My tulips!” Ms. Busybody cried when her initial shock had worn off and crawled out from under Sportacus.

Sportacus let go of her. “Are you alright?” he asked. He could hear his own blood rushing in his ear. That had been a close call, had he been a few seconds slower. No. Let’s not go there.

“I’m fine darling, a little shook,” she waved him off, “but look at my garden! Oh, my poor tulips.”

Well, clearly she was alright then.

“What happened?” Stephanie came running with the rest of the group that had caught up.

“What did we miss?”

“Is that an UFO”

“Did an UFO crash in Ms. Busybody’s garden?”

“Bessie, are you okay?”

They were all talking over each other and soon enough swarming the backyard.

Pixel had picked up a stick and edged closer to the impact zone.

“What is the first contact protocol?”

“Shoot on sight, I think?”

“Trixie, no!”

“Uhm, guys?” Pixel said, while poking the metallic object. “I think I’ve seen this before somewhere.”

They scrambled around the crater. Bickering what it could be at the bottom of the freshly made hole.

Stephanie peered down. “Yeah, it looks like… Wait… Is that? Is that the door hatch to Robbie’s place?

“It _is_ the door hatch to Robbie’s place!” Ziggy confirmed.

Trixie complained at the revelation, “aww, no UFO,” and kicked an uprooted flower in disappointment.

“Ms. Busybody, do you have a wheelbarrow I could borrow perhaps?” Sportacus asked the now fuming woman, “to bring the door hatch back to Robbie?”

“Please do! Get this thing out of my garden! And tell that scoundrel, that he is banned from all my future soirées for what he did to my tulips.”

“I don’t think he did this on purpose.”

“He ruined my flowerbed!”

Sportacus wasn’t going to further argue with her.

With a bit of digging and using a pike as leverage he managed to get the door out of the hole and into the supplied wheelbarrow. The effort wasn’t completely hassle free, as the children tried to be of assistance, but caused more trouble than helping Sportacus with their running around his feet. His attention got divided between getting the door out without slipping on the wet dirt and hurt himself, and not accidentally tripping over one of them and dropping it on someone.

The door hatch was cumbersome, but it was finally done. He wiped dirt off his brow, ending up smudging it instead. “Thanks guys, I think I can take it from here.”

“Do you want us to come with you?” Stephanie, bless her, asked. Sportacus smiled down at her but declined the offer, reminding them that they should probably head home for dinner. He ensured them that, yes, he could handle this alone.

He waved them good bye and got moving with the wheelbarrow.

 

Robbie was spotted staring at the entrance to his lair, with his fists on his hips and a look of inconvenience. The door had come clean off it would appear.

“Looking for this?”

Robbie startled at Sportacus’ announcement of his presence and looked at the contents of the wheelbarrow, a flash of a grimace before he schooled his expression and turned his face away with a sniff in fake nonchalance, “I have never seen that thing before in my entire life.”

“Are you sure about that? Maybe you should take another look.”

“If you so insist,” Robbie said and cast another glance, “what is that even, one of those wok pans?”

“It’s your door, Robbie,” Sportacus dead panned.

“Oh, well, so there’s where I put it.”

“Robbie!”

“Fine! Thank you for bringing my door back.”

“Robbie, this is serious. It crashed in Ms. Busybody’s garden.”

“And?”

“She was in its direct path.”

“Oh.” The implications appeared to dawn on him.

“She could have gotten seriously hurt, or worse.”

He let the sentence hang in the air. Robbie paled at the apprehension of what could have happened. Despite what Robbie claimed, he did care for other people.

“Is she… Is she alright?”

“Yes, but she’s angry. She said that you’re not invited to her future parties, I think.”

“It’s not like I wanted to go to her silly parties anyway.”

“Robbie, I think you should go and apologies to her.”

“And say what, _sorry I almost killed you_?”

“Yes, something like that.”

“I will. I just... I just need to put this back first.”

“Do you need help?”

“No, no. You’ve done enough, you can go. I got this.” Robbie tried to lift the door hatch out of the wheelbarrow, with no luck. Sportacus stopped him before the man could hurt himself. “Okay, maybe I need some of that muscle strength of yours,” he admitted reluctantly. “I’ll go down and get my tools.”

“Do you want me to carry anything up with you?”

“No, have you seen yourself? You’re covered in filth. I don’t want you anywhere near anything down there. You can get the door hatch out of the barrow instead and I’ll be back in a blink.”

 

Robbie came struggling with a big tool box, Sportacus helped him getting it over the ledge before he disappeared down again and emerged back up with a handful of cloths.

“Here,” he handed Sportacus one of them. At his confusion he explained, “for your face and hands and, well, everywhere I supposed. I figured that you didn’t want to be mistaken for a mud man.”

“Oh, thank you Robbie,” Sportacus smiled and started wiping his face clean.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered under his breath, a blush creeping up his neck and he ducked his head and started to wipe down the door hatch from dirt and grass. Sportacus couldn’t help but smile wider at how flustered Robbie got when receiving appreciation for his little deeds of compassion.

“When Robbie deemed his clean up job good enough, they lifted it up over the opening of the hatch and by them, it meant Sportacus did the heavy lifting and Robbie coordinated exactly where he wanted it.

Sportacus watched Robbie get to work.

“How did this happen anyway?”

 “Door rusted and broke.”

“Yes, but how did it?” Sportacus gestured up to the sky.

Robbie looked embarrassed, “nitro-glycerine. I placed small concentrated contraptions of dynamite at the weak spots of the lid.”

“You blew the door off the hatch? Why on earth would you do that?!”

“I couldn’t get it open.”

“You have a phone, don’t you? Why didn’t you call the mayor and I could have come to help you?”

“And let them have a laugh at me? Poor Robbie got stuck in his own lair, thanks to his own negligence.”

“Robbie,” Sportacus said softly.

“I was going to fix it earlier, but then I got thrown for a loop when you dropped that bombshell on me about leaving town and marriage and… And I forgot.” Robbie had put away his tools and started to paint the latch and joints in a protective coat in angry strokes. “If I had called the mayor’s office then I would have been the laughing stock of Lazytown. No, I’d rather blow up the entrance, than give them the pleasure." The paint was splashing from the brush uncontrollable. "I didn’t think that the concentration of the blast would hurl the damn thing that high and far!”

Sportacus halted Robbie in his rant and erratic movements. He stilled the other man’s hands with his own, covering them. “Robbie,” he said in a low soothing voice, “it’s alright to ask for help and no one would have laughed or belittled you, I promise.”

“We’ll never know that now, do we? And it’s not like I was in danger anyway, you would have known if I was,” Robbie refused to meet his eyes.

“Yes, but you could still have asked for me.”

Robbie didn’t answer him. Sportacus retracted his hands and let Robbie get back to painting. He did a few balance routines while he waited for him to finish.

“There, all done.”

“Nice work, Robbie. It looks like new.” Sportacus clasped his shoulder.

“It looks better than that, but thank you.” Robbie looked at the limb on his person. “Don't touch me, you’re still covered in dirt.”

Sportacus grinned. “What, afraid of a little mud?” he teased.

“No. But, I don’t need you sullying my outfit… Why are you looking at me like that? No, stay away!”

He wrapped his arms around Robbie in a hug. Robbie went rigid and protested the full body contact.

“Why does this keep happening to me? What did I do to deserve this?” he complained. “You smell like stale locker room and sewage!”

Sportacus only laughed at Robbie’s antics.

“Ugh fine.” Robbie gave in and awkwardly placed his arms over Sportacus shoulders. “The damage is already done. Happy now?”

He snickered and released Robbie out of the awkward embrace.

“Hah!” Robbie swiped the brush he was still brandishing over Sportacus face and left a streak of color over his nose. “Now we’re even,” he laughed.

“Hey!”

“Consent is key, Sportacrud. If the handsome man says no, you back off.”

“Fair enough. I’m sorry and I won’t do it again.”

“Good. Though, I must say that shade do become you.”

Sportacus got the cloth again and tried to remove Robbie’s handiwork.

“You’re only making it worse,” Robbie said. Amused and clearly not in the frame of mind to help him.

“I’ll scrub it off later then. I’m going to give the wheelbarrow back to Ms. Busybody and you still need to apologize to her.”

Robbie’s smile fell away. “Uhm, no?”

“Yes. Come on, Robbie, I’ll be there to back you up.”

“This is going to be awful.”

Sportacus grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow and started walking with Robbie in tow. “I’m sure she’ll understand. Besides, she’s not angry over almost getting hurt. She’s angry over her flowers.”

“That’s even worse, Sportadork! She’ll never forgive me for this,” the man bemoaned. Sportacus was idly wondering over people’s priorities around town as he pushed the barrow. And that insult that had turned into a nickname over the past year.

“At this rate, I’m going to assume that those nicknames are terms of endearment,” he joked.

“You wish. It’s because you are a dork. Nothing more.”

Sportacus hummed, “sure.”

“What is the matter with you today? I swear, you will be the end of me.”

“No, I will,” a female voice said tersely. “Mr. Rotten, look at this mayhem you’ve caused!”

Both men looked up to see Ms. Busybody waiting for them at her picket fence.

“Hi, Ms. Busybody,” Sportacus greeted her. “Robbie came to apologies.”

The woman fixed her gaze on the taller of the men and pursed her lips, “did he now?”

Robbie gave a small piteous, “help?” at Sportacus.

 _‘Oh boy_ _’_ , he thought. This was going to take a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter didn't agree with me. I'm posting it from the train ride to Stockholm. -I'll be traveling the country (Sweden) for the next two weeks so updates might be sparse.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Driver on the bus says "Move on back (and shut your trap)"

“I am never doing this again,” Robbie said and flopped gracelessly down in a sun chair. He was hot, clammy, his everything ached and he was starting to feel the beginning of a sunburn on his neck.

“I see that you kept your promise to make up for the damage you caused.”

Robbie peered from his position and groaned when he saw Sportacus. “Come to gloat, have you?” He hid his face under his arm, mortified.

“No, never.”

The man had a sense of humor. Who would have thought.

Ms. Busybody came out with a pitcher of lemonade. “Hello there, Sportacus, care to join us?” she chirped, then started berating Robbie, “bad Robbie, shoo! No dirty coveralls on my sun chairs!” before she went back inside.

“What am I, a dog?”

Sportacus snickered, “she’s still upset?”

“She had me do gardening for her. _Gardening_ , Sportaclown.” He peeled off the coveralls, revealing his usual outfit underneath. “Such back breaking, undignifying labor.”

They heard voices from inside the residence, notifying them that the mayor had come to join them as well.

 _“I must say, your garden is looking better than ever, Bessie. And those new roses are magnificent_. _”_

 _“Why, thank you, Milford. Yes, it took days of hard work and dedication, but I eventually managed._ _”_

“I am covered in cuts form those stupid rosebushes. I nearly lost an eye! And she takes all the credit?” Robbie splayed his hands at the surrounding greenery. “Can you believe this?”

“It does look very nice, Robbie. You did a good job.” Sportacus seated himself in one of the sun chairs, admiring the fruits of Robbie’s labor.

“Thank you.”

He was blaming the hot feeling on his face from being too long out in the sun.

The credit stealing harpy returned with glasses. “Milford will be with us in a jiffy, he received a call from Stephanie. She didn’t sound very happy, I’m afraid.”

“Has something happened?” The cheery look on the other man’s face melted away quickly, replaced by worry and he flipped up out of the chair. Pity, Robbie thought. He was hoping that he'd rubbed off some laziness on the man in the end. Then he felt a little guilty, because of the reason that Sportacus got worried in the first place. Kids, ruining his leisure when they weren’t even present.

“Thankfully no, but there seem to be a conundrum surrounding her school’s play.”

Shortly after followed a crestfallen Milford Meanswell. Robbie wondered; if both the persons that made up the Mayor’s office were here, then who was running the town right now?

“Oh, this is terrible,” Mr. Meanswell lamented.

“Mayor, is there something wrong?”

“Sportacus, thank goodness you’re here. There’s been a misunderstanding at Stephanie’s school regarding the construction materials for the school’s play.”

“Is it an emergency?”

“It will be. The lumberyard can’t deliver and the school have a trailer but no car. What am I to do?” The rotund man teared at what little hair he still had left.

“Boo hoo. I am distraught,” Robbie mumbled into a glass he’d poured, before gagging on the liquid. Too sour, urgh. The woman could bake, but she couldn’t make lemonade to save Robbie’s life. Reminding them of his presence turned out to be a bad move on his part, as they all looked at him as one.

“Robbie, you have a vehicle, right?” Sportacus asked him. Why him? He would prefer if they kept him out of the discussion.

“Be more specific. I have a bulldozer, a tractor, a drag racing car… I think… Or was it a drag racing car that looks like a tractor?” Robbie would have to sort out his garage one day, or upcoming year. “Either way, I’m not entrusting anything in the hands of you lot.”

“Then could you perhaps drive and help the kids get their supplies from the lumberyard?”

“Why should I? What’s in it for me?”

“Please, Robbie?”

“Nope.”

“The school administration will be happy to compensate you for your time and effort,” Milford added in.

“Meaning?”

“You’ll get paid.”

“Well, when you put it like that, I might consider offering my services.”

Sportacus' face lit up, “so, you’ll do it?”

“Oh alright, fine, I will help them get the materials.” He already regretted this. “When do they need the stuff?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Noon, or bust.”

“Ten thirty.”

“Fine.”

 

Ten thirty was an ungodly early hour, but here he was. He’d taken the tractor and done a few modifications when he found out that all of the children would tag along. If a pickup and a tractor would have had a romantic liaison, then this would be the blasphemous offspring. Some of the teachers gave him funny looks while he leaned against the vehicle. Sportacus was there too to Robbie’s mild surprise, attaching the trailer. “I didn’t know you would come as well.”

“None of the staff could make it, so I volunteered.”

Go figure. “I hope you like hanging on from the side, because I didn’t make enough seating for you too.”

“I’ll manage.” He tried the tow bar and seemed pleased that it held.

“Sportacus!” a chorus of excited children sang.

Followed by a, “Robbie Rotten?” a tad bit less enthusiastic.

“Yes, hello naughty children, it is I, Robbie Rotten, who has come to whisk you away to a land of wonders.”

“Really?”

“No, not really. I’m your designated driver to and from the lumberyard,” he sighed.

“That’s awfully nice of you,” Trixie said and eyed him with doubt.

He shrugged. “They promised me money. Besides," he jabbed his thumb at Sportacus, “the hummingbird wouldn’t stop nagging at me.” The collective of children appeared to take that as a good enough answer.

Getting the children seated turned out to be a test of Robbie's already poor patience. Stingy kept claiming all the seats as his, Ziggy wanted to sit in the driver’s seat, Trixie kept threatening Stingy with bodily harm. The only ones that sat down quietly were Stephanie and Pixel, that is, until Stephanie started singing “ _the wheels on the bus_ _”_ , despite blatant signs that this was, clearly, not a bus. It took them until eleven to have everyone strapped down and the carriage moving. There were five of the little gremlins, it shouldn’t have taken them this long! Staff couldn’t make it, yeah right, more like staff didn’t want to because they knew what they were up against. Sportacus dismissed his suggestion to gag them while they were at it.

 

“Are we there yet?”

“We haven’t even left the school grounds, you little-!”

“Breathe,” Sportacus soothed. Robbie hadn’t been serious when he’d suggested Sportacus to hang on to the side of the tractor, but the man had found that standing halfway out of the driver’s cockpit and holding on to the railing was a good way of keeping an eye on the children, and talk to Robbie undisturbed at the same time. “They gave me directions for the place but I don’t know exactly how far it is.”

“I’ve been there before, it’s not too far. We should be there in half an hour or so. Unless _something_ happens.” Indicating at their fussing cargo.

“I’m thirsty,” Stingy whined.

Robbie cursed loudly and floored it to the top speed of 25mph, while ignoring Sportacus’ reprimands about language.

 

Off the road they spotted a transport café attached to a self-service petrol station. Robbie didn’t think much of, it other than an indicator that there were another five minutes until they’d reach their destination and possibly a good place for a snack on their way back. The sight of the café had however triggered a discussion amongst the children.

“I still think we need a diner, what kind of place doesn’t have a diner? I can play the manager.”

“You’re already playing the governor, Stingy.”

“What are you on about back there?” Robbie inquired.

“Our play,” Stephanie responded, “it’s our school’s annual play before summer break. We get to pick our own theme, plot, props, stage set and plan everything.”

“Yeah, except _some of us_ , can’t agree on the theme and plot,” Pixel muttered.

Trixie quipped, “hah! You’re just mad that we didn’t go with your sci fi idea.”

“It’s better than Ziggy’s super hero theme.”

That set off another loud argument amongst the group.

“Hey. _Hey!_ ” Sportacus scolded, harsher than expected of the mild mannered man, “settle down!”

That got their attention, even Robbie jumped a bit in his seat at the uncharacteristic command.

“I thought you said that you had already agreed on a final idea?”

“We did. We’re just having some artistic differences.”

He didn't look like he believed them.

“Would you look at that, we’re here!” Robbie shouted to draw attention from whatever the heck was brewing back there.

 

Stephanie pulled a sheet of paper out of her bag, declaring, “alright, I have the list with all that we need in here.” She read out loud, “okay, so we’ll need nine plywood panels, size six x four, three decking units five x three, to start with and then we can move on to the support beams.”

All that for an Elementary School play? Robbie noted and snatched the paper from Stephanie, “let me look at that.”

He read the shopping list under his breath, looked up to give the pink girl an incredulous look, looked back at the paper, held it closer, turned it to the side. Nope, the list was still outrageous.

“Pinkie, who told you to build three sets for a twenty by ten feet stage?”

“Uhm?”

“Never mind. This,” he flicked the paper, “is a rip off.”

“Maybe we want three different settings.”

“You can’t even agree on the plot or theme of the play.”

“Not for the setting,” she argued back. “We will be in a park, a town and inside a bedroom.”

“Park; a bench and a street lamp. Bedroom; a bed, maybe a single plain background too. All you need some of the stuff from here is for the town. Boom, problem solved.”

“Says the laziest guy ever.”

“It’s smart. I’m saving you lots of time that you could spend on bickering instead.” He conjured up a pen and beckoned the group closer. “Look, you can build a set with depth by using a studio flat-”

“An apartment?”

“No, and don’t interrupt,” Robbie scribbled new notes on the paper, “it's a framing style. Let’s see… Some standard one by fours for support… One plywood planes two by fours for decking … Two four by seven and a flat background by, ooh I don’t know, maybe three more… And done.” He handed the sheet of paper back to Stephanie. Feeling a little smug.

Stephanie and the others eyed the new list and small sketches.

“This better not be another scheme of yours,” Trixie said, giving Robbie a suspicious glare.

“I’m feeling generous today,” he huffed and crossed his arms, “I consider myself a patron of the finer arts. So, you can take it or leave it.”

“New plan then everybody,” Stephanie announced, “Trixie and I will get the decking, Pixel, Ziggy and Stingy will get the planes, and Sportacus and Robbie can get the supporting components.”

“Hey, hang on a minute! I didn’t say I’d help you carry anything. I’m just the chauffeur, I’m doing my part here.”

The children had already scattered though, ignoring Robbie’s protests.

“It’s like I’m talking to thin air.” He turned around to hide away in the tractor to avoid any go getter activity and screamed when he found himself face first with blue clad health freak. “Have you heard of personal space?” he croaked. Sportacus had been standing right behind him overlooking his shoulder the whole time. Either that, or the short man had made it his life’s purpose to scare the life out of Robbie on a regular basis. If so, it was working.

“Sorry,” he said. “That was,” Sportacus gestured to the retreating backs of the children, “very kind of you.”

“I know. I feel like I need a bath after this, to wash off the shame.”

Sportacus gave him an unreadable look, he felt like the man was sizing him up. Robbie didn’t know what to make of the scrutinising stare.

“Why, though?”

“Because I feel sullied by the act. Obviously.”

“No, I meant,” he sighed and rubbed his brow, “why are you helping? It took barely any convincing to get you to agree to drive us here and even though I didn’t understand half of what you said when you were writing, I know that you made things much better."

“I know a thing or two about stage building. I, like a few other of my family members, had a theatre phase of sorts.”

“That would explain a lot. But, the helping?”

Robbie was definitely regretting his decision to be here. “This is awkward. The proposition for getting paid is of no interest to me.” Robbie lowered his voice to a conspiring tone, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I don’t really need the money. I'm well off, thanks to my brilliant mind. Don't tell Stingy, he’ll pop a vein if he finds out that I could buy out the whole place if I so wished.” The last part was more for the sake of bragging.

“You’re rich?”

“Decadently.”

Sportacus gave a low whistle. “Then why did you agree to drive? This only raises more questions.” He wasn’t going to be deterred.

Here came the awkward part. “Consider this a parting gift. I figured that since you’ll be off soon, I might as well just go along with things, instead of wasting both our time on ploys. It’s a small price to pay.”

If he felt like he was uncomfortable, then Sportacus seemed bent on outplaying him in that aspect as well.

"That's, uh, very nice of you," Sportacus was struggling with finding his words, "I don't know what to say. Thank you?" Robbie found small comfort in the knowledge that even the flip flopping hero could suffer from tongue tied syndrome.

"Don't mention it, like, ever."

He side stepped Sportacus to climb back in the tractor.

"Robbie?"

"What now?" 

"I could really use your help with the supporting parts," he was clasping the back of his neck, looking bashful. Some insignificant part of Robbie, hidden in a deep dark corner, found it _endearing_. "They ran off with that list and, uhm, it's true that I did not get all that you were saying to them."

Right. Sometimes Robbie forgot that English wasn't the other man's first language. You'd think that the funny accent was a constant reminder, but no. "You're pushing your luck here. Okay, I'll point out what you need." He climbed out of the cockpit again. "But, I am not carrying anything," he said.

Sportacus smiled gratefully, "I'm not expecting you to." He walked away in front of Robbie. "Just show me what to get."

"Well, first of all. You're walking in the wrong direction."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dunno if any of you have noticed how I write Sportacus' dialogue. Since English isn't my first language either I try to write it like how I would talk without having time to think through and edit.
> 
> Still traveling and I technically don't have internet yet until next week and up until midsummer's eve.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truck Stop Cafés doesn't make for good intimate conversations.

Robbie ended up carrying back a sizeable paper bag containing assorted screws and nails. That was as far as he was willing to extend his so-called assistance. Sportacus had been quick on the uptake when Robbie had explained in layman terms what building components and measurements they required, and was autonomous from there on, which allowed Robbie to go spend his free time as he pleased. Something he did not object to in the slightest.

First, he talked shop with the manager, who was less than happy about losing half of their order. Then, he nabbed a fistful of sticky caramels at the pay desk on the way out of the main office, propped his feet up on the steering wheel and waited for the rest of them to finish up.

Dozing, he thought he heard the faint sound of Sportacus' crystal going off somewhere, but soon dismissed it as an industrial vehicle backing up. Forty or so minutes later he got close and personal with the ground. “Who? What?” A rude awakening and the one to blame peeking down at him from the other side of the cockpit with a contrite guise, until it broke into a fit of giggles.

“What are you doing down there?” Stephanie asked, stifling her laughter behind her hand.

Stupid question, little girl. “Ermh, inspecting the tires?” he stood up and dusted himself off. His backside hurt from the impact.

He counted heads, all children accounted for, although Sportacus was still absent. The trailer was already loaded though. “Glad to see that none of you got caught in the wood chipper. If we’re quick maybe we can leave the blue menace behind before he notices.” Trixie and Pixel exchanged glances and low nervous laughter at the first comment, which had Robbie arching an eyebrow. He knew that look, he saw it every day in the mirror.

The approaching sound of Sportacus' boots on gravel drew Robbie’s attention away from the suspiciously guilty looking duo. Sportacus' gait was stiff and controlled, very different from his usual skipping and aerobic tricks. Robbie’s gaze travelled down his form and stopped when he saw the state of Sportacus' pant legs, or more like, what was left of them. The fabric of his left leg was shredded a good way up to his knee.

“What happened to you?”

“Wood chipper,” he said matter of factly, before climbing up on the side of the vehicle without uttering another word.

“You are kidding me, right? You are _not_ kidding me?” Robbie gaped. “Oh, for the love of-! I didn’t mean it _literally!_ ” he cried as he swivelled back to the children surrounding him.

Trixie mumbled something under her breath. Both were staring down at the ground, shuffling their feet.

Pixel said more audible, “we only wanted to see how it all worked.”

Robbie massaged his temples, groaning, “just, ugh. Get in the tractor. All of you.”

Stephanie, Stingy and Ziggy milled dutifully onto the back and into their seats. Pixel and Trixie took a detour to the front to of the tractor, to Sportacus. Robbie couldn’t hear them clearly, but saw Sportacus reply to them with a smile and a negative shake of his head before they too, went to the back.

 

One drama free day, that was all Robbie asked for. But, higher powers appeared to view his pleas as a challenge to see how long it could be kept up instead. Thus far it was six hundred seventy-eight days and running.

 

 

The shorter man had been quiet ever since they had left the lumberyard and parked at the transport café the group had spotted earlier. Not that he was complaining about the lack of noise and a rare moment of peace. But this felt more like sitting next to a ticking bomb. Again.

Robbie slurped loudly on a can of soda and settled himself next to Sportacus at the outdoor seating, leaning his back against the attached wooden table. He was trying to go for flippant, he wasn’t cut out for heart to heart talk. “I for one, encourage this newfound habit of silence. But, you’re kinda creeping out the kids, Sportamute.” Said children were currently still inside the café, choosing what to eat from the menu. Robbie may or may not have bribed the staff, in order to buy himself some time.

“Huh?”

“You heard me.”

“Thought you enjoyed _‘the sound of silence'_.

“Don’t make this about me.” He turned fully to Sportacus and looked him dead in the eye. “You’ve been on edge the whole day with the kids. So, spit it out. What’s wrong?” He had his suspicions, he just needed to hear it from the man himself.

“First you say that I’m too soft on them and now you complain when I actually take your advice?” Robbie could tell that Sportacus was faking bewilderment and it was painful to watch. “There is no pleasing you, is there?” he joked. Robbie wasn’t fooled.

“When are you going to tell them?” he abandoned flippant and went full on frank.

This had the desired effect on throwing Sportacus off. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Look at you, procrastinating. I’m almost moved to tears.” Robbie crossed his chest with the hand holding the soda can and feigned proud sobs, fanning his face with the other.

Sportacus turned back to his lunch and stabbed his salad. “A ha ha,” he answered, not amused by Robbie’s antics. He grunted and pushed away the container from him, muttering something about premade dressing. “I’m working myself up to it, Robbie.”

“But?”

“If there is one thing I dislike, it’s letting people down.”

“Except me, apparently.”

“And,” Sportacus ignored Robbie’s comment, “I feel responsible for them. I’ve watched them grow and develop as individuals. Which, it’s true, should make it easier for me to go, knowing that they can take care of themselves and live happy healthy lives without me.”

“First of all,” he raised his index finger, “the oldest of them is, I dunno, eleven or twelve years old. So, no talk about watching them grow, you’ve been here for barely two years. Secondly,” he raised a total of three fingers, “you’ve had several weeks to deliver the news and time is ticking. The end of their semester is in less than two weeks. Or so Bessie has told me. Repeatedly. And oh boy, can the woman chatter.”

“Don’t I know it, the reason that I’m tense,” Sportacus said, referring to Robbie’s first question, “is all this talk about their play and the start of summer. I’m hyperaware that I will be going by then. And it’s getting to me, I guess.” Sportacus stared down at the table top, his shoulders were slumping. Robbie’s inklings were confirmed and now he instead felt bad for whatever reason. He decided not to delve into it and acted on instinct instead. He tentatively laid his arm over Sportacus shoulders. Was this what people did when they tried to comfort another? Robbie wasn’t much for casual intimacy, especially if it involved people like Sportacus. But he could make sacrifices, if so needed.

“For starters, you could try not to tell them the way you told me. Make something up? I don’t know, use that drivel you tried to sell me, about how the town will do well and that you are better needed elsewhere because they can handle themselves now?”

“I didn’t try to sell you anything.”

“That’s because I’m not buying. Crap on a biscuit, how did they manage to get themselves nearly into a wood chipper? I will have a stern talk with the school admin. Because neither you, nor I, should be overseeing five kids in an industrial area on our own. There is lazy and then there is stupid.” Robbie tried to get back on track, “anyway, the kids and the townsfolk in general are gullible enough to believe it.”

Sportacus hummed, seeming to take it into consideration.

He retracted his arm and peered into his soda can. Confirmed that it was empty and threw it in the closest bin he could locate. It almost fell outside but ended up inside on the rebound. “By the way,” he asked, “how’s the leg?”

“It’s okay. The pants are beyond saving, though. The bottom hem got caught in the chipper and shredded the leg. Might have strained my hamstring when I yanked it free, but nothing worse, thankfully.”

“Thought you walked funny,” he stated, “the only way to get you to walk like a normal person is near to bodily harm? Duly noted.”

“The sarcasm is strong in this one”

Robbie didn’t correct him on what proper use of sarcasm was. “Another piece of pop culture? I keep learning new things about you.”

“How was it you put it? I wasn’t raised in a barn?”

“They have TV in Huldu-land?”

“Iceland, actually.”

“Ah, so that’s where you’re from. My brother went there once. Caused a lot of ruckus. Refuses to talk about it more than that he ran into one of your people. Hence my knowledge that you were one of the Huldu.”

“You have a brother?”

“Very much older brother. Decade older. Also, half-brother if we are nit-picking.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, even has a different last name than me,” he continued. “Mom have, what they say, a taste for quick men and slow ponies. Age does not seem to discourage her.” Why he was telling Sportacus all this was beyond him by this point.

“And I too, keep learning new things about you. I’m an only child myself, but I guess having such an age gap between siblings is essentially the same.”

“Yup, you only get a reluctant extra babysitter,” he agreed. “So, how’s Iceland?”

“Depends on where you’re from. I’m from the north-west area, it’s… Cold. And windy. Also, there is a lot of trolls and angry sea birds.”

“Bet they don’t put that in the brochures.”

“No, not really, he laughed, “the birds are the real menace if you’d ask anyone. The trolls tend to keep to themselves and are rather docile.”’

Robbie glared at him.

“Right, I forgot. If you leave them be, they are docile. Better?”

“Hardly.”

 

They had completely forgotten about the children inside the café, but were abruptly reminded when they heard Trixie sing, in reaction to the pairs odd moment of proximity, “Robbie and Sportacus sitting in a-”

“ _Finish that sentence, and I will destroy everything you hold dear!_ ” Robbie bellowed. The nerve of that one.

She laughed like the little menace she was and ran back to her group of friends. Sportacus was laughing too, that weird man. He was just as much the victim as Robbie. He would have to agree, though, that having Sportacus laugh and relax was far more pleasant than the option of silent and tense. Like a violin string threatening to snap at any given moment and poke someone’s eye out.

Feeling slighted and in need to get a sense of normalcy back, Robbie viewed some of the trucks parked near the café and had an idea form in his mind. It was disguise time.

“I’m going for the restroom, you insolent brats enjoy your lunch,” he said loudly.

“Too much info,” Trixie said.

Sportacus gave him a questioning look, probably guessing that Robbie was up to something again, but let him go.

Robbie went through the establishment. He saw a baseball cap with a _W_ logo in red on top of a table and a flannel shirt draped over the back of a chair at another, he grabbed them as he went by. He took a seat cushion to use for padding and exited through the front door before anyone noticed their missing attire. Being undetected was a gift he’d rather not question and instead made into an art-form he’d perfected over the years. Robbie already had a fake mustache hidden in a pocket and the outfit was almost complete, all he needed now was a pair of pants. He supposed he could put a little more effort into his performance to make up for the lack of suitable slacks. Preparing, he spotted a pair of denims hanging out of a door of a truck, thanked his luck and he was all set. He walked around the corner of the building, back to the outdoor seating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personal info: Got to spend one whole week at home before I had to take into a hotel, which wasn't the easiest feat considering that my town is hosting the national championships this year. Because some a**hole thought it was a a fun idea to torch an abandoned sofa some other lazy jerk had discarded outside the storage area in my apartment complex. -I'm fine and so are my belongings thankfully. I work at a newspaper and my workplace colleagues are sympathetic, but also major opportunists. In short, I made front page... Wow. Thanks guys.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Ronny Rucker, the Trucker.  
> Alias: The Hammer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch me flail around with accents and American trucker lingo.  
> Also, I found this gem while I did some research and it's fab.  
> https://www.thetruckersreport.com/trucker-slang-and-cb-radio-lingo/

The children had occupied the table he’d left Sportacus at and now the man was squeezed in between them all. Making Robbie think of a box of sardines, with Sportacus as the unfortunate middle fish. The children had taken the cue that Sportacus was a bit more approachable now, and were currently showing their support and worry, by bombarding Sportacus with questions about the state of his leg, if he was okay, what he and Robbie had been talking about and such. Snoopy little buggers.

“Why hello there, you all. Nice day we are having?” Robbie said as he approached the table. Sportacus let out a small sigh of ill-concealed relief when the focus of the group shifted away from him.

“What’s it to you?” Trixie replied, cooly.

Stephanie nudged Trixie. “Sorry, yes, it is. Can we, uhm, can we help you?”

“No, no,” he waved his hands. “I’m waiting to switch cargo and figured I could pass some time talking while I waited for my good buddy. You on a school trip or sum’thing?”

This had the group somewhat warm up to the stranger. “Something like that,” Trixie replied, her voice less frosty now.

“That yahoo your teacher you got there then?” he nodded at Sportacus. “How’s by you?” he asked him.

“Hi, I’m Sportacus,” Sportacus extended his hand across the table, offering it to Robbie in a handshake. Robbie grabbed it and tried not to wince at the strong grip and let go before he feared he’d break something. “No, I’m here to help them while their teachers could not.”

“Nice to meet you. I thought I saw a tall fellow here as well. Dark, handsome, great hair?”

“Robbie?” Trixie scrunched up her face, as if his mere name left a bad taste in her mouth.

Brat.

“Nah,” Pixel said, “Robbie is just, well, _Robbie_. He drove us here.”

“Drove you? Well, I happen to know a bit or two about driving heavy, and far less noisy, loads. Name’s Ronny, ' _The Hammer',_  Rucker. I’m a truck driver.” He put his thumbs through the belt loops of the denims and swayed on his heels.

“A truck driver?” Ziggy asked, excitement creeping into his high-pitched voice.

“Indeed,” Robbie answered. “Just me and the hammer line. It’s good pay and the backbone of this fine country’s economics.”

“Really?” this had piqued Stingy’s interest. 

“Yes,” he made place for himself by the table, shouldering Trixie out of the way to sit next to Sportacus. Trixie yelped and ended up sitting halfway up in Stephanie’s lap. “Say, isn’t your company taking awful long time in there?” he smirked and nudged Sportacus. The man scooted away a bit, giving Robbie a confused wide eyed look.

“I guess?”

“You don’t think he might be closer than you think?”

“Uhm, maybe so?”

"Like, right here?"

Sportacus was squirming uncomfortably in his seat, too polite to do much else and Robbie fought the impulse to groan in exasperation and plant his face on the table. With applied force.

As much as he enjoyed causing Sportacus distress, he had to ask himself; was the man dense? He leaned in and practically hissed in Sportacus' ear, “it’s _me_ , Sportaloser.” He straightened back up and watched Sportacus tilt his head sideways and squint back up at him. Robbie could almost hear the figurative penny drop when the man blinked, sat ramrod straight and raised his brows in bewilderment. About time. Robbie winked and started addressing the children again.

“You know the best part ‘bout my profession?”

“No?” they said in chorus.

“I get to travel and see every corner of the country. All while sitting behind the wheel. No stressing around, or biking, or jumping and definitely no running.”

This had Sportacus give him a lopsided smirk and cross his arms. More at ease now that he knew that it was Robbie. “Really now?” he said. “No stress?” The man was teasing. How appealing.

"You betcha."

“I heard that it could be dangerous and that drivers fall asleep behind the wheel and crashes and burns all the time,” Trixie said in one long sentence.

“Yes, well,” Robbie struggled momentarily, “that’s what happens if you don’t take regular breaks and don't listen to your body. Taking breaks and long naps at yards like this is the key for safe long-distance driving.” Nice save, if Robbie might say so himself.

“But, what about deadlines?” Pixel inquired.

“I’m in the union?” Damn, he hated when they got clever with him.

“Can we see your truck, mister Rucker?” Ziggy asked, bouncing in his seat.

“Yes? Can we, can we?” Stingy chimed in.

Robbie swore mentally. “I’m sorry, but it’s… uh. It’s currently unavailable. Yes, unavailable. It’s in for overhaul.”

“I thought you said that you were switching cargo?” Stephanie asked him, getting apprehensive.

“Yeah,” Trixie said.

“Right, that too. That’s why I need to switch cargo. Safety measure and all that.” He was starting to feel a cold sweat start down the back of his neck. Meanwhile, Sportacus looked like he was having a laugh at Robbie digging himself a deeper hole by the second, eyes crinkled and grinning like the Cheshire cat. For a herbivore, his canines sure were pointy, Robbie noted this up close. Yup, he definitely needed to cut this short, while he still had an easy out within sight.

“Well, it seems like I need to get back to it, now that you’ve so kindly reminded me.” At the children voicing their disappointment, he said, “don't look so sad. I bet I will see you again on the flip flop and then you can take her for a drive.” He fished up some paper bills. “Say what, how 'bout I treat you all for some ice cream to make up for it?” Now this had the group of children changing their tune completely. Sportacus shook his head, but smiled non-the less.

“You really don’t have to,” he said.

“Oh, but I insist.” Robbie got up and waved them farewell, “remember, there’s no need for hurry and running around like fools. See you 'round,” he added, “and keep the shiny side up and the rubber side down.”

“What did he just say?” Stingy asked.

Pixel shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Who cares? We’re gonna get ice cream, c’mon!” Trixie shouted, dragging Stephanie along inside the café with her.

Robbie took off his disguise when he had rounded the corner to the front of the café and discarded the attire over a railing, leaving it for their original owners to find them. It was fun for as long as it had lasted. He sauntered back into the café and was greeted by the sight of the children standing over the freezer arguing over what frozen treat they should get.

“Look, Robbie!” Ziggy acknowledged Robbie’s presence and waved a bill, a big smile on the runt’s face. “We're getting ice cream!”

“Good for you,” Robbie sniffed. On the inside he was cheering though. Score one for the villain, on grounds for successfully giving them sugar right in front of Sportacus. Can’t deny them the kindness of strangers, can he? That would be rude.

The noisy group made their purchase and ran back outside. Robbie made his way to the counter and asked for another salad, this time without any dressing, croutons, or anything extra whatsoever. Just the way nature intended, utterly revolting. He was indeed feeling uncharacteristically generous today.

He found Sportacus sitting with a still wrapped popsicle in his grasp, staring at it. A nice thought by the kids, if the man had been able to actually eat it.

“Trade?” he held the new container of rabbit-food under Sportacus' nose.

“Thanks,” Sportacus said and gave Robbie the popsicle.

“You’re welcome.”

“You really didn’t have to, though.”

“I thought I told you not to ever mention it.” He walked over to the tractor, popsicle in hand. “Good talk, though.”

 

The drive back was relatively uneventful, Sportacus was back to his old self and Robbie could stop pretending that he gave a damn. The children would however not stop nattering on about the trucker they had encountered. Opinions seemed to differ somewhat on whether the impression the stranger had left was good or not.

Trixie leered, “he was asking after you, Robbie. A lot.” She continued, “I think he liked you.”

“Yes, he thought you were pretty,” Ziggy added, not really catching on that Trixie was baiting Robbie for a reaction.

Sportacus guffawed. Robbie knew for a fact that those were not the words he had used, but played along. “Sounds like he has good taste,” he stated.

“Really? You’re not bothered?” Trixie asked, thrown for a loop.

“No, not at all. I know I’m a handsome devil.”

“That’s arguable,” Stingy quipped.

“I don’t see you winning any beauty pageants in the near future, kiddo,” he retaliated.

Sportacus asked, because _of course_ he couldn’t leave it alone, “even though it’s a man?”

“Eh, not really,” he shrugged. This was the last time he would indulge Sportacus. The man knew full well that it had been Robbie playing the roll of a trucker earlier. Give him a finger and he would apparently take the whole hand. Robbie rarely bothered with other people in that sense and this was in no way a conversation he was going to have around minors.

Sportacus made the universal shrug and facial expression of _‘fair enough_ _’_ and to Robbie’s relief, left it at that.

“When I grow up, I want to be a trucker and travel the world,” Ziggy said, having had the conversation completely flown over his head. The rest of them groaned.

“Atta, boy,” Robbie snickered.

 

With the trailer unloaded and the children chaperoned back inside the school, Robbie started up the tractor to get home and recover from the day’s endeavor. At least that was the plan. Alas, like most of his plans, Sportacus seemed to get in the way.

“There is something I have to ask you,” he said.

Robbie turned off the ignition. “What?” he spat.

“How do you do it? The disguises, I mean. And why did you let me in on that it was you?”

“One question at a time, Sportaflop,” he said. “A professional never tells their trading secret. As for the other question, I guess I like to show off from time to time. You were gloomy and honestly you were bringing us all down in the dumps. That answer good enough for you?”

Sportacus furrowed his brow, “No. It was strange. How your appearance changed while you were still in disguise.”

“Care to clarify?” Sportacus had seen through Robbie's disguises before, when he'd on rare occasions botched up, -every other Wednesday. Why should this have been any different?

“When you approached us, I saw a scruffy middle-aged man with a bit of a gut and instinctively I made the conclusion that you were one of the truckers making a stop there.” Sportacus paced as he continued, “I fully believed that. Then, when you told me it was you. It all, I don’t know how to say this. It kind of melted away? Suddenly it was you dressed up in flannel and a fake mustache, with a pillow stuffed inside your shirt.”

“Thank you for your constructive criticism.”

“No that’s not what I meant. I’ve never seen a human pull that off, that is what I’m saying.”

“Now you’re getting weird again.”

“Robbie,” Sportacus exhaled.

“How about this,” Robbie said, “if it means so much to you, I’ll tell you as little I am willing to share about my disguises,” he started the engine, “after you’ve told the kids that you’re leaving. Deal?”

Sportacus closed his mouth tight, his lips in a thin angry line. Not seeming to appreciate Robbie's gracious offer.

“Do we have a deal, or not?” Robbie pressed on.

“Fine, yes.”

“Tomorrow.”

Sportacus sputtered, “what?”

“Tomorrow.” he repeated. “I’ll be sure to bring popcorn, because this ought to get interesting.”

He drove away before Sportacus got the chance to come up with any good answers or weasel his way out of it.

 

Finally, at home, Robbie drew himself a hot bath. He moaned, relishing in the sensation of his poor aching muscles getting their sweet relief as he soaked. These past days had been trying, to say the least.

"Tomorrow is going to get quite interesting indeed", he mused aloud to himself. He plucked a purple rubber duck out of the soapy water and held it to his face, "don't you agree, hmm?" The duck remained silent. Robbie sighed and put it back into the water, watching it bob away. Sure, Robbie would, for once, be fair and fulfill his part of the bargain, but Sportacus would still be sorely disappointed. There wasn’t much more that Robbie could add to the secret behind his talents than what he already had shared. Perhaps Sportacus, being an elf and all, and thus more likely privy to _alternate expertise_ , could enlighten Robbie a bit on the subject instead. Sportacus had never seen a _human_ pull it off. Now that had caught Robbie's attention.

Robbie had always been reluctant to look a gift horse in the mouth. Until now, that is. He was a good actor, absolutely fabulous at it even. A master of disguise. But skill alone would only get you so far. In most normal cases.

His mother had put both him and his brother through acting classes at a very tender age, and it had paid off in the long run in Robbie’s case. Glanni, his brother, had however gone AWOL in his late teens, not that anyone was surprised really, they were more intrigued with how he had managed to take nearly half the company's inventory with him. The first illicit act, out of a series of many more that would come to follow thereafter. But those were reminisces for another time.

Logically, he should maybe look up his family and ask them, instead of trying to wheedle the knowledge out of Sportacus. Ah well, maybe not. Watching Sportacus bite the bullet would be far more rewarding, he concluded and started looking for his loofah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk what you were expecting really. Disaster apparently.  
> Nah, I'm saving that for later~


	8. Chapter 8. Act 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to deliver some bad news. Grab your tissues.

True to his word Robbie had brought a box of popcorn. However, the box was now lying forgotten on the ground of the ballpark and was not the priority for the moment. Sportacus had other things to deal with.

 

Frankly, even Sportacus was surprised, and a bit disturbed, by how much snot a distressed child could produce. Claiming that the rag tag gang was upset was a gross understatement. Instinctively, he had assumed that, out of the children, Ziggy would be the one to take the news the hardest, since he was the youngest of the group, and had come to latch onto him and idolize Sportacus from the early start.

That’s why he was completely blindsided by Stingy when he had promptly sat down on the asphalt and started wailing his heart out. It was a perpetual mess. Big fat tears were rolling down his round flushed cheeks, mucus running from his nose, mixing with saliva and salty tears. Robbie had hunched over and clasped his hands over his ears in a vain attempt to block out the awful noise, dropping his popcorn in the process. In hindsight, Sportacus should have taken Stingy’s inclination for possessiveness and separation anxiety into account, and cursed himself for not foreseeing this alternative.

Sportacus approached the devastated child and hefted him up on his hip gingerly. “Hey, there,” he tried to soothe Stingy, who instead started to cry even higher and wrapped his arms round his neck, burying his snotty face in the side of his neck. He tried very hard not to grimace at the wet sensation. “Hush now, it’s alright, Stingy.”

Stingy blubbered, being overwhelmed and finding it hard to form coherent sentences, “bu, buh, you said that you wu, hu, leh, leaving!” he hiccupped into his shelter of Sportacus' neck. “And you’re _mine!_  You’re _my_ Sportacus,” Stingy had resolved to weakly hammer at Sportacus chest, “you ca, han’t, leave!” Sportacus grabbed the small fist and held it in his own.

“Stingy, stop that. Yes, but it’s still alright, see? I promise that I will visit as often as I can.”

Trembling, “promise that?” Stingy asked.

“I promise that. It’s going to be okay.” Softly he repeated the words, more for his own sake, “it’s going to be okay.”

The child looked up to face him from his cover. Poor Stingy’s eyes were red and puffy, his face covered in tears and snot, but the worst of the crying had finally subsided.

“Hrmpfh.”

Sportacus looked up from Stingy to find Robbie holding out two napkins for him, looking a little green around the edges himself, his eyes darting to anywhere but at the display. “Some for the slime monster and some for you too,” he said and pointed at his own neck for emphasis.

He dumbly thanked him and started to carefully wipe Stingy’s face clean, before Stingy took the napkin from him and left Sportacus’ hand free to start cleaning himself off.

Stephanie turned to Robbie, pointing an accusing finger at him. “This has to be your fault, isn’t it?” Robbie, who had been digging a kernel out of his teeth, froze like a deer in the headlights. “It’s _your fault_ that Sportacus is leaving LazyTown.”

“Hey!” Robbie protested and took a defensive stance, “if I could take credit for this, I most certainly would’ve!”

“But he can’t,” Sportacus inserted before things escalated even further, last thing he needed was a lynching, “because he has nothing to do with it. This is all on me, guys. Robbie didn’t make me do anything.” He let Stingy back down on the ground. “It is simply time I left.” Sportacus went down on one knee to the same level as the group of children and said solemnly, “you have all grown so much since I arrived here. You are all so smart and brave, and full of life. I know that I will leave LazyTown in good hands. There are other places that need me more right now.”

Ziggy sniffled, “but _we_ need you, Sportacus.”

“Yeah,” Trixie joined in, “you’re _our_ hero!”

“Who am I going to show my cool inventions to, or help even out our teams when we play games? Five is an odd number,” Pixel said.

Sportacus smiled at them, “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

As one, they moved and Sportacus found himself engulfed by them in a tight group hug. He fought back the overwhelming sensation of breaking down in tears himself. Now was not the time.

As far as his arms could strain he tried to take them all in. Murmurs of how much they would miss him, small pleas for Sportacus to change his mind and a tearful ‘ _you better come visit or you’ll get a whooping’_ , that last one was provided by Trixie. He looked past Pixel’s shoulder and fixed his eyes on Robbie, silently daring him to utter any of his usual witty remarks. This was his and the children’s moment. Robbie was meeting and holding his gaze in turn. The tall man swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. They stayed like that for a while, up until it was broken by Robbie rubbing his twitching nose and awkwardly coughing into his fist. Sportacus exhaled and lowered his head back into the embrace. He closed his eyes and focused on the here and now.

 

Stephanie was the last one to let go off him when they eventually drew back. She walked over to Robbie, ducking her head shyly as she approached him tentatively.

Quietly, she said, “I’m sorry, Robbie,” and reached for the tall man’s cufflink. Robbie jumped at the contact and drew back from her as if burned, crying out a startled _‘Ack!_ _’_.

She lowered her hand, “I’m sorry I accused you and for shouting at you.”

Sportacus couldn’t help but feel his mouth pull into a weak smile, she was getting better at handling the consequences of her actions and her empathy had greatly improved.

“A fair assumption. I would have thought the same if I were you,” Robbie said when he’d recollected himself and straightened out his waistcoat. “Do I wish it had been my making,” he muttered looking over at Sportacus.

He got up and dusted off his knees. The children were understandable not in the mood for any physical activities and needed time to let the information sink in, he could understand that. Sportacus picked up the abandoned box of popcorn and drop-kicked it into the trash after they had left.

He turned and found Robbie fidgeting, looking uncomfortable and lost in the situation. His pale eyes had a glassy quality to them.

“That turned out as expected, I’m surprised that you went with my suggestion,” he said weakly.

Sportacus didn’t grace that with an answer.

Robbie carried on, filling the silence, “the way they reacted, you’d think you were dying,” he paused, “you’re not dying, right?”

“No, I’m not dying.” Sportacus rolled his eyes.

“Good, good, just checking.” He looked down at his feet and toed a kernel of popcorn, “so, did you want to discuss my costumes now, or something?” Robbie said sheepishly.

“Not now, Robbie,” Sportacus answered him, “I think I need some space at the moment.” To be honest, he felt like a wrung out rag. He needed some time to centre himself.

“Do you need to talk about it? Don’t tell me you want another hug, because I will not-”

He leveled the man with a look.

“Right. Space. Lots of space coming up. Gonna leave you to it then. Yup, I’ll… Uh, I’ll see you later then? You know where to find me.”

 

Sportacus caught the last part already jumping over the fence to the ballpark.

 

Free running was good. Free running helped him find his bearings. It was somewhat like meditation in motion. Nothing but focusing on moving fluidly trough his environment, channelling his energy into the forward speed and carry him from obstacle to obstacle. Not much else and his body taking him wherever. This was easier in more urban cities, but he could very well make do with LazyTown’s whimsical design, it created other entertaining challenges.

He was on his fourth impromptu obstacle course through the town when he spotted Mayor Meanswell by the postal office, waving at him and shouting to get his attention.

Sportacus re-maneuvered his direction and jumped onto a lamppost over Mr. Meanswell, gripping the pole with his right hand and finding purchase with his feet. “Hello, Mayor Meanswell.”

Mr. Meanswell craned his head up to Sportacus, while dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief, “I'll say, I’m getting all worn out just looking at you go around town.”

Sportacus hummed, absentmindedly swinging back and forth from his perch.

“Stephanie told me that you’d be leaving us soon. It will be sad to see you go, but I understand.”

“Thank you, Mr. Meanswell.”

“I know that the children must be taking it hard. I remember when the last hero, Number Nine, stayed here. Briefly, mind you, but I recall how heartbroken I was when he told us that he needed to leave.”

Sportacus stopped swinging, Stephanie had mentioned a Number Nine when he first arrived to LazyTown. “This Number Nine… Do you recall exactly how long ago it was?”

“I do believe it was thirty years ago by now. I could be off a year or two.”

“That must have been my father then,” Sportacus stated in conclusion. His father had received his title almost forty years ago, so the passing of time added up quite well.

“I did think you two looked a bit alike!” Mr. Meanswell grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket, looking proud over making the connection.

Sportacus smiled and nodded, very well knowing that the Mayor had poor deduction skills at best and was as a blind as a bat when it came to details. At least the man had his heart in the right place. “Some say that,” he indulged the man. Some might even say that, look-wise, the resemblance was fearfully striking, he thought.

Sportacus hooked his leg around the pole and glided down to the Mayor.

Mr. Meanswell wrung his hands. “Well anyway, Bessie had this splendid idea when I told her about your upcoming departure.”

That sure saved Sportacus some time to get the announcement around. The whole town probably knew by now. “Oh?”

“Yes, she suggested that we should have a farewell feast in your honor.”

“That’s... Wow. Thanks, Mayor Meanswell, uh. Thank you.”

“After all that you have done for our community, it is the very least we could do. You’ve engaged us all, the children, the adults, even Mr. Rotten dare I say, to a better lifestyle and lifted our spirits tremendously.”

“Wait, even Robbie?”

“Why yes, the poor man was a complete recluse before you came. I think you’ve had quite the positive impact on him.”

Sportacus ears picked up a muffled _‘Lies! Complete and utter lies!_ _’,_ from a nearby bush. He looked to his left and briefly spotted a periscope that emitted a panicky _‘Eep!_ _’_ before it quickly disappeared back into the shrubbery. He snorted in amusement. Trust Robbie to snoop on him.

“What was that you said?” Mr. Meanswell gave him a puzzled look.

“Oh, nothing. Must have been something tickling my nose. I don’t think Robbie would agree though, but it’s a nice thought.”

“Ah,” Mr. Meanswell said, “maybe so.” He looked at his wrist. “Would you look at the time! I think I’ll let you get back to your _park-poor_ , or whatever you young people call it. Ms. Busybody and I have a lot of planning to do. This will be a memorial gathering, indeed.”

Sportacus said his goodbyes. Not until after the Mayor had disappeared out of sight, did the thought strike him that the man did not have a wrist watch.

 

Shaking his head, he decided that a shower and a meal was in order, before he went to Robbie’s home to get some answers. Though, there was this reoccurring trend lately, with Sportacus leaving Robbie with more new questions than answers after their little talks. He looked over at the bush he had previously seen the periscope at. Robbie was an intriguing individual, he would have to admit that. Despite the sour note of Robbie forcing Sportacus to announce his departure, he had found their interactions to be stimulating, pleasant even. He would have to apologize for acting so cold towards him earlier today, he thought and called down the ladder to his blimp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to direct attention to the third chapter. I made a small edit at the end of it, calling his uncle "frændi Iþro", which translates to "Uncle Ithro". This is so that the transaction to later chapters will go more smoothly, thank you. (Also I've updated the tags if you've noted. Feel free to ask questions)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turning talking in circles into an art-form. Speaking of art-forms...

He called Robbie’s name and knocked on the lid. Nothing. He tried again, this time calling his name louder. There was a scuffling noise from the other side and the slow screeching sound of something heavy getting dragged across the floor.

“Hang on a second,” Robbie’s muffled voice came through.

Sportacus waited, shifting his weight from foot to foot impatiently.

“Alright, come on in.”

Sportacus lifted the lid and jumped down into the dark. The temperature dropped significantly the further down he descended, the air chilling his arms and around his face as he fell.

 

“Hello and welcome to my _humble_ abode,” Robbie said in greeting at the bottom of the shaft, he was lackadaisically splayed over his recliner. Sportacus nearly stumbled upon it thanks to the momentum. Robbie had strategically placed his infamous recliner by the opening so that his visitor would land right in front of it. He blinked rapidly, trying to adjust his eyes faster to the dim light that was such a stark contrast from the late spring day outside.

“Thank you for having me,” he said when he felt like he’d gotten his vision back again.

Sportacus took the opportunity to examine his surroundings. This was far from the first time he had been down in the underground lair that housed the man in front of him, but it was a first where he had not been dragged down there unconscious, or preoccupied with beating Robbie’s scheme of the week. Sportacus wouldn’t personally have called it homey. It reminded him more of an industry building. Machines and knick-knacks, that he couldn’t even imagine what they were for in the first place, were occupying the room. Up on a platform further back, was a row of giant glass tubes displaying mannequins, which brought the image of a stage to his mind. The light from the tubes illuminated the cavernous room with a warm orange glow.

“Whenever you are done house-inspecting, Sportadork.”

“Do I smell detergent?” There was a faint scent of citrus in the air. “Wait, have you been cleaning?” he asked.

“What? Pfffffhhh, no?” Robbie said, grinning a little too broadly and waved him off, “absolutely absur-” before he got the chance to finish the sentence, a mop fell into Sportacus’ line of vision with a loud clatter.

Robbie’s eye twitched, grin still frozen in place.

“…Right. Well, your home is very, uh, _you_.”

“Whatever,” Robbie huffed and crossed his arms. “We can’t all stomach Scandinavian minimalism.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You thought it. I’ve seen the sterile interior of your blimp, remember?”

They were off to a good start. If by good, it meant bickering like children. Sportacus counted to five in his head and looked up at the ceiling high above them, it had to be at least two stories up. “Okay, do over?” He tried again, “thank you for inviting me to your home, so I could ask you some questions.” Straight to the point. A bit too blunt for his own tastes, but this was Robbie he was talking with.

“A pleasure, Sportadoofus. Ask away,” Robbie said, leaning back into the fuzzy monstrosity of a recliner.

“Okay, then. Let’s start with this; for how long have you known that I’m an elf?”

He startled. “What? This isn’t what we agreed upon!” Robbie protested.

“Please, answer the question, Robbie.” He crossed his arms. This particular question had been bothering Sportacus for several days now.

“Urgh, fine.” He sank, if even possible, further down into the recliner. “Since the first day you arrived,” he reluctantly admitted.

Sportacus gaped in awe, “what?”

“The very moment you touched ground in LazyTown, you introduced yourself as _Number Ten._ The elf, sorry, huldu, that my brother ran into was a numbered hero too. Heck, the guy that made a pit stop here when I was a kid was probably one as well, now that I come to think about it.”

“He was… Is.”

“See? I was right.”

Sportacus was processing the information that the man had known from the very start. He had underestimated Robbie. Severely.

“I still don’t get what the big deal is,” Robbie drew his legs up and changed position into what Sportacus was sure couldn’t be good for his spine, “but there you have it. Anything else you need to get out of your system?”

“You said you were rich?”

“I am not giving you a loan. I have a strict policy on that.”

“I was more wondering where you got the money from. Is it even legal?”

“If you really must know,” Robbie sighed deeply and stood up. “Do you see all this?” he swept his hand over the room and all the machinery surrounding them. Sportacus nodded. “Everything in here serves a purpose. I’ve built them myself and every single one of them is patented.” He smirked at him with a gleam in his eye as he said, “whenever a big corporation think that they’ve made a huge break-through, they discover that I’ve already built it, or part of it, before them and got the full rights to the design. So, if they want to use it, they’ll have to pay for it and in rolls the money,” he made a _‘ka-ching_ _’_ sound and grinned, “it’s perfectly legal. Unfortunately, for them.”

“Wow, Robbie. You’re an inventor?”

“Two years and _now_ you’re finally catching on,” he said wryly, “yes, yes I am.” Robbie leaned his back against one of the machines. “Are we done now? Do you feel satisfied, or do you want to go for another round of twenty irrelevant questions?”

“I think I’m done.” _‘For now_ _’_ , he added silently for himself.

“Great, let’s get on with it.” Robbie turned and beckoned Sportacus to follow his lead, “follow me.”

They walked up to the platform with the tubes. Robbie’s disguises, the reason why Sportacus was down in the lair in the first place.

 

“You wanted to know how I did it. Well, you are in luck, I can give you a live demonstration.” Robbie turned to the tubes, the light illuminating his high cheekbones and cast his face in a rather nice profile, he noted. Robbie had quite handsome features, when he wasn’t gloating or making faces at people. Sportacus could admit that, yes, the man was attractive. “Chose anyone of them that piques your interest.”

Sportacus was abruptly brought back from his introspections. “I don’t know, Robbie. This one perhaps?” he suggested and pointed to the tube nearest to him, displaying a mannequin dressed in a pair of pyjamas. The look Robbie threw him after a quick glance at the tube said all too clearly ‘ _not impressed, try again_ _’_. “Or maybe this one instead?” he said quickly, pointing at a mannequin in a frilly pink bathrobe and gray wig.

“Interesting choice,” he said and led Sportacus to the far left of the row of tubes and presented to him an apparatus that Sportacus, at closer inspection, realized was an organ.

“This,” he turned to the instrument, “is where the magic happens.” He pressed a select number of keys and the outfit Sportacus had chosen fell down the tube and was instantly ejected out on a table at the base of the organ.

Robbie held up the garment, obscuring his face in the process, “watch this.” He did a little twirl.

 

For a split second his mind blanked out. This wasn’t what Sportacus had expected. Not by a long shot. His back hit the railing, he hadn’t even realized that he had backed up against it in shock.

Robbie had been replaced by a wrinkled old woman in a ratty old bathrobe, her grey hair in spool curlers. His senses were instantly invaded by the smells and impressions of old cigarette smoke, cat food and lavender scented mothballs. Sportacus blinked, he shouldn’t even know what that last one was and, under all that, he caught a faint whiff of the odour of chlorine, or bleach. No. He shook his head, fighting off the distracting effect. Not chlorine, _ozone_! He could taste it like metal on his tongue.

 

One word came to Sportacus mind.

 

 _Hamr_.

 

“You okay there, sonny?” the very female voice spoke out of thin red lips in a sagging and wrinkly face.

Sportacus willed himself to step closer, studying the woman’s features. Looking down, or up. Robbie was taller than him, but his brain screamed at Sportacus that the figure before him was, at the very least, a head shorter. He searched for something, clues, anything that could help him identify the man beneath the disguise. Then there it was, framed by crow’s feet and age spots. He locked eyes with the old woman. Peering up, no, down, at him were the unmistakable pale eyes of Robbie Rotten.

A shift in the air and Sportacus could briefly see through the disguise, as through a rippling water mirror. Robbie was wearing the bathrobe over his usual attire and the gray wig on his head.

Tentatively, he breathed out his name, “Robbie?”

“Yes.”

The mirage broke completely and Sportacus found himself staring up mere inches from Robbie’s face. He blinked and stepped back. “How... How did you do that?”

“It’s all acting.”

“No. That’s not all of it.” Sportacus knew what he had seen and it was not all credited to acting.

“You mean the twirl? It’s a Quick-Change Artist trick I learned.” Robbie removed the wig, “it took me some years to nail it,” he said, staring down at the wig in his grip.

“Not that either.”

“I knew you’d be as helpful as a hole in the head.” He was now starting to tear at the prop between his hands, “okay, I admit, I don’t know what to tell you!”

It dawned on Sportacus. “You don’t know how you do it, do you?” He started to laugh, “of course you don’t.”

Why had he expected anything else? Trust Robbie to master an ancient art, that up until recently Sportacus had thought had gone extinct. -And not have any idea whatsoever of what, or how he was doing it. He nearly doubled over in his fit and grabbed onto the railing not to topple off the platform altogether.

The man took it the completely wrong way. “Don’t laugh at me!” Robbie threw the wig at Sportacus in rage fueled by humiliation.

Sportacus swatted away the projectile and grabbed Robbie’s arm. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. He looked up at Robbie’s face again, lipstick was applied to his thin lips, he hadn’t seen Robbie put it on. His gaze travelled up to meet his eyes again. “I am really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He swallowed down the last of the laughter.

“Who said anything about feelings?” Robbie tried to pull his arm free, still enraged, but Sportacus wouldn’t budge. Something told him that if he did, then this new and delicate comradery they’ve built up these past weeks would crumble and Sportacus would find himself thrown out of the lair before he got the chance to explain.

“Robbie, Robbie, Robbie,” he said, shaking his head and smiled, “it’s literally magic.”

 

How ironic the other man’s earlier choice of words had been.

 

“Old magic I’ve only heard of,” Sportacus still refused to let go of Robbie, “until now.”

He finally stopped struggling in his grip, “what are you saying?” his anger was starting to seep away, being replaced by curiosity for where this was heading.

“I don’t know the English word for it, or if there even is one. _Sj_ _ónvherfin_ , it’s… Sight warping? ...Altering?” He growled in frustration. The common dictionary wouldn’t be of much use in this situation either. “It’s a type of shapeshifting. Metamorphosis. Or, optical illusion perhaps is a better word for it.”

Judging by Robbie’s perplexed expression, the other man probably thought that Sportacus had lost his mind completely.

He tried to reel in his eagerness and failed. “I always thought that you spent hours on props and makeup to change yourself beyond recognition, and some pretty good acting.”

“Excuse me? I am an excellent actor,” Robbie argued.

“But, I never imagined that you put on a _hamr_ and were ready to go.”

“Hamm-what?”

“When did you learn to do that?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about! I already told you, _I don_ _’t know_! And what the hell is a hammrh?”

Sportacus realized that he had gripped Robbie by both his upper arms and jostled him around in his excitement. “The closest word I can think of is shape… A literal supernatural disguise,” he tried to explain. “Do you see why this is so extraordinary?”

“No, I don’t. You don’t make any sense whatsoever.”

“Robbie,” Sportacus said slowly and as clearly as he could, “your disguises are more than when an actor puts on a costume and play pretend. You are actually, through optical illusion, altering how you are perceived. By magic.” He looked up at Robbie’s face, feeling his hot breath on his own. He should probably give the poor man his personal space back, but he was still afraid of letting go though.

“Magic?”

“Yes!”

“Sporty,” he wetted his lips, staining his teeth with lipstick, “how badly did you hit your head on your way down the hatch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wash my hands off this chapter.
> 
> Swedish and Iceandic tales of supernatural beings and hamn/hamr-shifting share the same roots and elements. If you look up the Edda there's even more of it. Sometimes it's entering and possessing an animal/human, putting on a pelt or disguise, optical illusions of being in a room or things that are something else entirely and so on.
> 
> Oh right... Romance. Sport, wth?


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If ignorance truly is bliss, then Robbie has mastered the secret to achieve rapture.

It took some time to convince Robbie that Sportacus was serious and, no he had not sustained any head injuries, or eaten anything funny. It had taken a bit longer for Robbie to manage to pry Sportacus off him, to both of their shared embarrassment.

 

“Magic, huh,” Robbie mused while shrugging off the bathrobe, “I mean, I always knew that I was a master of disguise, but, really, magic?”

“You never asked yourself how you did it? Ever?” Sportacus was having a hard time wrapping his head around that Robbie had simply gone on with his life and never once questioned how he was able to do certain things.

“To be fair, I always assumed that people were dim-witted,” he admitted, “I’ve always been good with costumes and never spared it a thought, until you said something yesterday.”

“And that was?”

“It’s not important,” Robbie dismissed the question as he folded the pink garment and put it on the table, “but your reaction had me thinking and since you’re, well...”

“An elf.”

“Yeah, that, and it had me wonder if you knew something I didn’t.”

“That’s why you agreed on talking? Robbie, why…” Sportacus winced, “you could have asked me, instead of forcing me into that deal to tell them that I was leaving.” Pride and his inability to admit that he didn’t know something would be the downfall of Robbie one day. Not to speak of the collateral damage it was already causing on a daily basis.

“Yes, about that,” Robbie said, “I’m…” He hesitated and took a deep breath before he continued, “I’m sorry. I knew it would be bad, but not that bad.” The admission appeared to be taking a toll on the man, he was fidgeting more than usual and refusing to meet his eyes.

“It had to be done eventually and,” it was his turn to brace himself and apologize, “I’m sorry too.”

Robbie gave him an odd look.

“For freezing you out like that earlier today.”

He turned away from Sportacus and said quietly, “I didn’t notice.” Sportacus kicked himself mentally. Of course Robbie hadn’t, he was already so used to being an outside spectator and Sportacus, who had made it a personal rule to include everyone who wanted to partake, had deliberately frozen him out, and Robbie had not thought any of it out of the ordinary. Until Sportacus had to go and bring it up.

Robbie examined the tubes that the outfit was back in place correctly, meanwhile Sportacus did a handstand on the railing for lack of anything else to do.

A thought hit him. “Hey, Robbie?”

“Hmm?”

“Is it only disguises you’re exceptionally good at?”

“I’m really good at sneaking too,” Robbie answered, distracted by the machinery, “why?”

He did a cartwheel and lowered himself over the railing in a split, “care for another demonstration?”

Robbie was staring at Sportacus' thighs, before his eyes snapped up to his face. “Could you please stop that? I can hear my own legs scream in agony.”

“Flexibility is good for your body and _other_ activities.” That came out wrong, he meant _day to day_ activities. Now he just sounded like a pervert.

“Yeah, I bet,” Robbie mumbled under his breath.

“I heard that.” What was it with the man and bringing out the petty side of him?

“Ergh, well, I, uhm. So,” Robbie drew out the vowels and tugged on his collar, “demonstration, right.”

At least they were both somewhat uncomfortable now. Sportacus threw his leg over and sat on the railing to face Robbie fully instead.

 

Robbie recovered quickly, he would have to give him that.

 

“Okay then, now you see me,” Robbie raised his left hand in a theatrical manner making sure that he had his full attention, a smirk playing on his lips, “and now you don’t,” he snapped his fingers and disappeared in a blink.

Bewildered, Sportacus jumped off the railing and started looking around for any trace of the tall man. “Robbie?” he asked out into the now empty big room. The muffled sound of laughter came from somewhere above him and he turned his gaze up to the ceiling to find Robbie standing on a catwalk above him. He was trying to stifle his laughter behind his hand.

“Robbie? How did you get up there?”

He jabbed his thumb at a spiral staircase, “I took the stairs while you were busy spinning around like a fool.”

Another optical illusion then, it had to be.

“Though, even if it pains me to admit it,” he said and disappeared again, “I’ve gotten way better at it since you came around,” the source of the voice coming from behind Sportacus and sent a jolt up his spine in surprise.

Sportacus swirled around and looked down the opposite side of the railing at a smiling Robbie, who now stood beneath the platform.

A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. “You know what they say, practice makes perfect,” he teased in jest, knowing what reaction he would get from him.

“And there you’ve gone and ruined it,” Robbie groused. “You know what else is similar to practice? Madness. Doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting a different outcome.” He grimaced. Sportacus found it far better when Robbie smiled.

“But, you said you had a theatre phase? Isn’t that where you learned the basics and practice?”

“Some of it yes, I was put through some classes to get the feel for it.” Robbie clasped the back of his neck and looked to the side, “but so did my brother when he was around the same age and he’s not even nearly as good as me.”

You’ve mentioned your brother a few times, is he also able to do any of what you do?”

He stroked his chin with a thoughtful look, “to an extent I guess, he’s pretty good at influencing the mood of a room. He can be _very persuasive_ and don’t get me started on mom, jeez.”

“How about your father?”

“Not the foggiest. I never knew him. Dead before I was born.”

“Oh, Robbie, I am so sorry.”

“Pfffhh, don’t,” he stopped Sportacus’ condolences dead in their tracks. “I can’t mourn someone I never knew. All I have from him is a very befitting name.”

“Ah, I see.” Sportacus didn’t really know how to react to that. His own family and bond to his father wasn’t of the typical either, but, to not miss someone who should be such an important figure in your upbringing? That was alien to him. “But, taking your known family into account,” Sportacus concluded, “that could mean that there’s a possibility that your abilities are hereditary. It would be interesting to meet them.”

“Please, go ahead. My brother will try to scam you, and my dear old mom will try to seduce _and_ scam you.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Though, there’s the off chance that my brother will try the seduction route too, if called for. It’s better to stay away all together.”

“Have you ever done it?”

“I’d rather compete in a marathon before I even think the thought of seducing yu- yeargh! _We are not having this conversation!_ ” Robbie squawked. “Can we please get back to the magic mumbo-jumbo instead?” He covered his eyes. “Please”?

Well, that stung. Sportacus laughed it off. He was really referring to persuasions, but, ouch, okay?

Robbie made his way back to the fuzzy recliner. “I’m despicably lazy and quite content with my life that way, I have everything I need. I’ll leave the dissatisfied endless search for riches and self-affirmation to someone else.”

Sportacus could argue about the self-affirmation part. Most of the things Robbie did while on his crusades of bringing the _lazy_ back in LazyTown was to prove something, or receive praise.

Robbie flopped down in the recliner with the same grace as an uncoordinated giraffe with a penchant for magenta and disappeared out of sight with only a leg within view that stuck up in an odd angle over the orange backrest. Sportacus vaulted over the rail and did a couple of flips over to Robbie.

“Would it hurt you to get from point A to B like a normal person?” he inquired, peering up at Sportacus.

He didn’t even know where he would start explaining elven energy output and physique. So, he ignored the, anyway rhetoric, question. “Your inventions?” he said instead.

“My non-villain-livelihood? What about it?”

“Anything extraordinary when you build them too?”

“That Pixelate kid-”

“Pixel.”

“Yeah, yeah, the kid throws together some interesting gadgets too. Go bother him about it instead. Although…”

“Yes?”

“Some of my creations can be a bit iffy, especially the robots and dolls.”

“Robbie, no.”

“Remember my dancing wind-up doll, or that infuriating dog?”

“Robbie, what am I to do with you?” Sportacus groaned and hid his face behind his arms on top of the backrest. He came up immediately for air, that thing was foul.

Robbie made a face accompanied by an _‘I don_ _’t know_ _’_ noise and shrugged.

“What are you even?” Sportacus said in mock awe.

Robbie pulled an even sillier face and repeated the noise louder before he spoke, “I was hoping you could help me with that.”

“I’m not magical, I do have some experience, but not to this level.” And this level was crazy. He had never seen anything this extreme outside of older tales and legends.

The elven colonies, homes, burrows and other haunts where huldufólk dwelled were protected by different types of visual deceptions that would turn them into blind spots, if you didn’t know what you were looking for. Those types of charms were elaborate and required spells and chants, often commissioned to be performed by other _v_ _ættir_ , spirits and huldu, more proficient in magical crafting. But, he had never seen anyone that could change shape and create illusions so seamlessly without effort, runic inscriptions, or any other sacrifice, like Robbie did.

“However, I think I know someone who could help,” Sportacus finally said. His uncle, frændi Íþró, was well travelled and had contacts. There was a good chance that he knew.

“Great! Bring them here,” Robbie steadied himself up on his elbows and paused, “unless they’re a health freak too,” he said pointedly.

He chuckled, “the worst actually, he’s a former numbered hero.”

“Then he can stay put where he is.”

“I’ll ask him about it.” _It_ , being whatever the blazes this was. “Maybe, I’ll introduce you two someday,” he added. Or not, odds were that they would tear each other to pieces within ten minutes. Íþró wasn’t known for being lenient and Robbie wasn’t one to be forced into a corner without a fight, or without loud complaints. It would be fun to watch the explosion though. From a safe distance.

“I’d rather you didn’t. Aren’t you going away for the long haul anyway?”

That’s right, he was.

Caught up in the excitement, Sportacus had completely forgotten that he would most likely not return to LazyTown in years. His face fell. Uncertainly he said, “Robbie, can I ask you something?”

“Questions, questions, questions! You seem to be on a roll, so why stop now?”

“I know that you and I haven’t always seen eye to eye.”

Robbie raised an eyebrow. “Major understatement.”

“But, before I go… I don’t want there to be any bad blood between us, or contempt.” He looked down at his hands and continued, “I would want to be able… To call you a friend.”

He looked up again, to find Robbie furiously pinching his arm. “Oww! Okay, maybe,” another pinch, “oww! Not dreaming. I’m not dreaming?”

“Uhm, Robbie?”

“You’re serious? This isn’t some kind of elaborate trick to convert me to your health cult and start doing jumping-jacks, or go vegan? Because let me tell you then, you’re barking up the wrong tree here, Sportadork.”

“No, Robbie, I’m serious. I understand if you don’t want to, but I’d rather we parted on good terms.”

“Help me up,” Robbie commanded.

A bit dumbfounded, Sportacus extended his hand down to Robbie to grab and hoisted him up.

Robbie clasped both his hands around Sportacus’ and shook it. “Alright.”

“You agree? That’s great, Robbie.”

Robbie smacked his lips and said, “yes, I think I can manage this friend-thing for another week or two.”

Oh. That put a bit of a damper on things. Sportacus would have preferred something more, he didn’t know, something more _genuine_ perhaps. He hid his disappointment behind a smile and reciprocated the handshake. “Let’s bury the hatchet,” he said.

“Don’t expect me to fall in line like your little students, though. If they’re noisy, I will interfere.”

“I’m not asking you to change who you are. Truthfully, your ploys are quite fun, up until you push it too far. And there is no need for that, not any longer.” He let go.

“True,” Robbie stated. “Wait? Fun? That’s not what they’re meant for.” His tic was back with a vengeance.

“Please take the compliment, Robbie,” Sportacus sighed in exasperation.

Robbie didn’t argue back and instead nodded in thanks. That was a promising start all in itself.

 

There was a gentle tapping sound coming from above.

“Did you close the hatch on your way in?” Robbie asked and frowned, gazing in the direction of the entrance.

“No, I don’t think so,” he admitted.

“Fantastic,” he said dryly. “Critters and birds and other icky things. If a disoriented squirrel finds its way down here, you deal with it,” he pointed at him. “Unless,” Robbie rubbed his hands together, “I can train it to guard the lair. Yes, a rapid, pet, I mean guard, squirrel.”

Sportacus rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but smile. Robbie was truly one of a kind. He shook his head and let the smile spread into one of fondness. He would miss the man’s antics.

The tapping returned, this time accompanied by a careful _‘Hello?_ _’_ in a familiar voice.

The two men exchanged looks. Stephanie?

What was she doing all the way out here? By Robbie’s lair no less?

Sportacus did a handspring towards the exit and scurried up the ladder to find out.

 

“Hi, Rob- Sportacus?!”

“Hello, Stephanie,” he greeted her cheerfully.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, a bit taken back.

Robbie came up behind Sportacus, wheezing from the excursion. Sportacus moved over to the side to allow him to climb the last of the stretch and clamber up onto the edge

“I could,” he coughed, “excuse me, ask you the same thing, Pinkie.”

“Sportacus?” Stephanie turned back to the shorter of the men sticking out of the opening of the lair.

“We’re trying to get along, start anew.” Were they really? It didn’t feel like it.

She looked at Robbie this time and gave him an inquiring look.

“Yup,” he confirmed.

She raised her brows in surprise at the admission. “O… Kay?” she finally said.

“Now Pinkie, before the whole town realize that it’s apparently _Go Bother Robbie Day_. What are you doing here?” Robbie squinted up at her.

Her eyes flicked between Sportacus and Robbie, visibly unsure how she should proceed. “Uhm, well, when Sportacus told us earlier that he was, um, leaving. Me and the group,” she stopped and corrected her grammar, “the group and I, decided to do some changes in the play and we realized that we… We need your help, Robbie.”

“Who to the what now?”

“Please, Robbie?” she pleaded.

“What exactly does this entail?”

“You seemed to know a great deal about how to build a stage and background,” the girl started, “and you clearly know about make up.” Robbie started to rub away the lipstick with the back of his hand at the mention. “And costumes,” she finished.

“The answer is no.”

“Okay, I understand,” she said disheartened and turned to walk away.

Sportacus was about to elbow Robbie for putting that look on Stephanie’s face, when said man hung his head, swore and said on his own volition, “wait! Come back, you little pink horror. Alright, I’ll help,” he said in defeat.

Stephanie gave him a stunned stare. She looked at Sportacus, who could only give her the same astonished expression.

They both turned back to Robbie. “Really?” she said.

“Yes,” he groaned, “I’ll help, to an extent. I promised the blue kangaroo here to be nice. So, this is me, being nice. Bleh.”

“Great!” she exclaimed, her hair bobbing as she bounced on the balls of her feet, practically beaming. Neither she, nor Robbie, noticed the downcast look on Sportacus' face as they started discussing when to meet up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it already been ten chapters? Wow, go me.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word to the wise: Muscle therapy is usually welcome, unless you're touch averse.

On the children’s insistent, they were having a picnic out in the park. Robbie had tried to talk his way out of it, but had found himself sitting in a corner of the picnic blanket after Stephanie, not so subtly, had reminded Robbie of his promise on being civil until Sportacus’ departure. Sportacus himself wished that Stephanie would stop using it to her advantage. He vehemently didn’t want to be reminded that Robbie was only being nice out of a sense of obligation.

Befriending Robbie, as Sportacus had quickly discovered, turned out to not be so different from the tentative limbo they had been in earlier. This truce, cease-fire or whatever he should call it, did however contain a great deal of teasing from respective sides. So, all in all, not too different from what they had before. With the greatest difference being that Robbie had toned down on the animosity. It was nice to not having to look over his shoulder all the time, and their interactions, if somewhat stilted, were mutual and good natured. Even if this was only for a brief period of time, he found that he quite enjoyed this side of the man.

That didn’t mean that Robbie had stopped with his ploys completely in-between working with the town children’s play. Sportacus should really call it conspiring, for the sole reason that whenever he approached the subject they would all get tight lipped about their development. Sportacus had shrugged it off, if they wished to keep it a surprise, then he would not delve deeper into it and had instead focused on trying to figure out which stranger of the day that was actually Robbie pulling a disguise. Sportacus would like to think that he was getting better at seeing through Robbie’s outfits. It was their little game, not that Sportacus could get Robbie to openly admit it.

At present, Robbie was entertaining his second favourite hobby, which was heckling Sportacus. “I still can’t believe you thought that was me?”

He was referring to an incident that had taken place earlier, when Sportacus had been bothering a travelling salesman, in belief that it had been Robbie. The real Robbie, disguised as a rotund shop keep, had broken down in ugly laughter when the salesman had more or less fled the town and Robbie had not let it go since then. Not one of his finer moments, he would have to admit. Okay, maybe he wasn’t that great at seeing through Robbie’s disguises, but it was an honest mistake.

He took another bite out of his apple and munched.

Refusing to engage in Robbie’s personal brand of affection, he decided instead to address something that had caught his attention. “You’re tense,” he stated.

“I’m the perfect image of lax and lazy, how on earth can I be tense?” Robbie said in-between bites of his ham and cheese sandwich. If the greasy snack could be called a sandwich.

“Your shoulders are up by your ears and you keep constantly stretching your neck from side to side.” That was true and he had also noticed that it had gotten worse over the span of the day.

Robbie frowned and finished his sandwich in silence.

Sportacus pointed to the space in front of himself on the picnic blanket. “Sit,” he called him.

“Not on your life.”

He raised one eyebrow and waited. Still gesticulating for Robbie to come over.

“Oh, alright.” Robbie gave in and loafed over and plopped down unceremoniously in front of him.

Sportacus twirled his index finger, “turn around.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to give you a back rub.”

“Oh no. Nope, nope, nope.” He started to crawl away. Sportacus grabbed onto his shoulders and pulled him back in place.

“Relax,” he said as he started tracing Robbie’s shoulder blades to get an idea of what he was working with here. That… Was a lot of knots. _‘What are you doing to your body, Robbie?_ _’_ Sportacus thought in dismay.

“I’m going to be manhandled by a sadist _and you ask me to relax_ , you monster?” Robbie protested, loudly.

Sportacus had half a mind to point out that Robbie was most likely a closeted masochist in that case, as his questionable life choices had proven time and time again, so this should even things out. But time and place, also small pitchers had big ears.

Speaking of small pitchers, the man’s complaints had attracted them an audience.

“What are you doing?” Stingy asked.

“I’m giving Robbie a back rub.” He was trying to at least, if the lanky man would stop squirming.

“Ohhh! I want one too!” Ziggy exclaimed enthusiastically.

He smiled, “if you form a train, I can demonstrate on Robbie and show you some good tips on how to give a good back massage.”

In the edge of his peripheral vision, he could make out Robbie trying to make a dash for it again at the mention of using him as a live presentation. Without batting an eye, he onehandedly snatched him right back down. Robbie went down with a strangled _‘Oumpfh_ _’_ and resigned to sulking when it became clear that there was no escape.

“It’s a great way of muscular therapy,” he said to the group that had formed a sitting line on their end of the blanket and winked, “it’s also an appreciated and affordable gift for friends and family.”

Robbie harrumphed.

 

After giving them some pointers, he got straight to work on Robbie’s tense shoulders.

“You do have some muscles on you,” he stated after a while of coaxing them down and ease up, not as much as he would have wished, he lamented silently to himself.

“I do? I must be doing something wrong.”

Sportacus hummed. He dug in under Robbie’s right shoulder blade, chasing a particularly elusive knot.

“Tch! Careful,” Robbie hissed.

“If you would relax then-”

Robbie cut him off and argued, “and if you would pay attention, you’d realize that I’m not the biggest fan of being touched.”

“It’s only me, Robbie.”

Robbie didn’t reply. If anything, he tensed up even more than before. Sportacus could feel his work become undone.

 

Sportacus sighed and told the children to switch places with each other. At the mention if he shouldn’t too, he said that Robbie needed the extra attention. A whole lot of it. Sportacus eased up on the pressure of his hands and moved upwards to the nape of Robbie’s neck in an attempt to sooth the high-strung man. Little by little, Robbie started to loosen up again and a soft groan escaped his lips when he began to rub small circles behind his ears.

Sportacus stomach did a little flip and the sound of pleasure. Out of context, that innocent small noise was obscene.

This had not gone unnoticed by the town’s other prominent trouble maker. Trixie snickered, “aww, look at you two.”

“Trixie, cut it out,” Stephanie hissed at her.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Just thought what an _adorable_ couple you make,” she said, not all too kindly. Robbie had turned to stone under his hands yet again. Great.

Sportacus had noticed how Trixie had tried to tease Robbie after they had been to the lumberyard. It was time Sportacus snuffed out that type of taunting. It might appear as harmless to a child that age, but could turn into something ugly and hateful along the way. “Robbie and I aren’t a thing and even if we were,” Robbie muttered an _‘You would be so lucky_ _’_ , “why would that be an issue, Trixie?” He kept his tone light and innocent. That had the desired effect on the pig tailed girl.

“I, uhm.”

“Trixie, there is absolutely nothing shameful, or to tease about who someone likes.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it like that. I just wanted to mess with him.”

“Whether you meant it or not, your words can hurt. I’d like to understand why you do it?”

“I… No. This is stupid. I’m going to go play football.” She got up brusquely.

Crap, he had been too forward and she had gotten on the defensive.

“Ziggy, you wanna play football too, don’t you? Let’s ditch the lame-os.”

“Trixie, wait!” Stephanie got up as well. She glanced over at the sitting adults. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why she-”

“Don’t worry, Stephanie. Go play, I think you all need it.”

“Thanks,” she said and took off with the others in the direction of the ball park.

 

“I can’t see your face, but I bet you’re got your best _‘I am disappointed in_ you’ face going on right now.”

“I’d really like to get through to her,” he said lowly, more so to himself than Robbie.

“You can’t have everything,” Robbie replied to him anyway. “And… Thanks,” he said softly.

He sounded almost vulnerable. Sportacus stopped his ministrations and rested his hands upon Robbie’s shoulders. Whether to ground himself or Robbie, he wasn’t sure. He could feel the warmth of him seeping through the fabric into the palms of his hands. He idly wondered how Robbie could stand wearing all these layers in this late May heat.

The serene moment returned back to normal again when Robbie added, with more of his usual sarcasm, “for saving me from being bullied by a ten-year-old.”

He chuckled, “you’re welcome. Now, turn around. I’m not done.”

Robbie shuffled on his knees to face Sportacus.

“Give me your hand.”

“I don’t do hand holding on the first date.”

“Hilarious,” Sportacus said, trying to keep a straight face, but ultimately failed and started snickering.

Robbie did a poor impression of Sportacus, “w _e_ _’re not a thing and even if we were_.” He grimaced, “ugh, thanks for that mental image. No offence, but you and I? No, not in a million years.”

“Ouch,” he said as a joke. He couldn't help the sting, though. No one liked to be dismissed that harshly.

“You’re a health obsessed nut job, never sit still, have a silly mustache...”

Sportacus laughed and snatched Robbie’s hand into his own. “Sounds like you have a long list of reasons.” His hand was warm and surprisingly smooth. Sportacus would have expected it to be calloused from all of Robbie’s tinkering with his machines.

“I could go on all day.” Robbie shrugged. The shrug got quickly replaced by a hiss of pain when Sportacus located and pressed down on a trigger point in his thenar. “Oww! And you are a sadist! Did I mention that? Because it bears repeating!”

“Hold still, it’ll get better.” He counted in his head then released and started massaging normally again.

“My whole hand and wrist is tingling, what the hell did you do?”

“Trigger point,” he replied. “You work a lot with your hands. Might want to keep them nimble.”

“You’re lucky I’ve started to almost like you, or I’d seek justified retribution.”

Sportacus blinked. “You… Like me?” He must have misheard.

“Almost,” he stressed. “Believe it or not, you’re not half bad.” At seeing the baffled expression, Sportacus was sure he sported, Robbie continued, “don’t let it get to your head. Despite going hoppity hop all around town, you’re surprisingly quiet. I can appreciate that. You don’t scream and holler like a banshee.”

“You don’t like loud noises, do you?” He moved on to start massaging the other hand.

“Not in particular, no.”

“Ever thought of, you know, move somewhere more secluded? If it bothers you so?”

“No,” the tone left little room for arguing, “LazyTown is _my home_.” He jolted when Sportacus found the trigger on that hand as well. “I take it all back. You are absolutely horrible,” he seethed through clenched teeth.

Maybe Robbie wasn't just friendly because he felt he had to? Sportacus dared himself to think that the man actually meant it. “I like you too, Robbie,” he said. 

“If this is how you treat people you like, I do not envy future Missus Sportabrute.”

 

Robbie then started chuckling under his breath.

 

“Heh... Sportadork, The Family Man. Now that’s a scary thought,” he said. “I’m having a hard time imagining you with a wife and two-point-three little Sporta-lettes’ running and flipping through the place. Not some random gaggle of children, but, mini-sports. Just, cartwheeling off wherever.”

Sportacus froze, he had a hard time imagining it himself. Frankly, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. He cleared his throat and said, “marriage doesn’t automatically have to mean that I’ll get children right away. I haven’t seen Frída in years. I’d like to get properly reacquainted with her before that.”

“Reacquainted, huh?” Robbie wiggled his eyebrows and gave him a smile Sportacus could only describe as lewd.

“Please, don’t be crass.” Sportacus let go of Robbie, who started to gingerly rub his wrists in silence.

 

Sportacus found himself on the receiving end of a long thoughtful stare from the other man. He felt like his skin was crawling, and fought the urgent need to get up and run a lap around the town to shake off the feeling of being stripped to the bone by that gaze alone. He wondered if he was as easy to read as Robbie claimed. Or, maybe it was just all in his own head. 

 

“Alright, let’s change the subject, please?” Robbie spoke after what felt like an eternity. “All this talk about marital bliss is giving me the hibbie jibbies. I have more important matters to bring to light.”

Sportacus let out a breath he didn’t even realize that he had been holding. “You got something on your mind?”

“You bet I do. I’d like for you to stop sneaking sportscandy into my fridge. I told you, I’m not joining your health cult.”

Sportacus leaned back on his hands and stretched his own neck, “I haven’t been in your lair since you showed me your hamr.”

“Still a weird word for disguise. Well anyway, my fridge is full of disgusting veggies and if you haven’t put them there, then who has? Because I would never in my right mind go to the store and buy a head of lettuce,” Robbie argued. “So, it’s either you, or the thing is haunted.” Long leap of logic, but Sportacus was game and more than willing to entertain the idea and debate.

They slipped comfortably into a discussion about whether Robbie’s household appliances had it out for Robbie or not. This was nice. Debating and just talking like two adults with Robbie. This was something Sportacus could very well imagine himself doing for a long time. Was it that strange to easier imagine a future with his until-recently-rival-now-sort-of-friend, than his wife to be?

Sportacus pushed that question to the back of his mind and countered Robbie’s argument about doing modifications to the oven for quicker baking. Because the last thing the town needed was another crater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a filler I know. I just love a good ol' snark off.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, addressing one elefant, out of many, in the room.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A picture is worth a thousand words

Sportacus had not meant for sneaking around like a thief in the night, err, noon. But here he was, dangling by his knees in a tree above Robbie and the children. He was starting to turn into the man below him, he reluctantly admitted to himself.

He’d come to collect a ladder and this is how the day had turned out instead. He thought back to how he ended up there.

 

Five days without his crystal going off. That had to be a new record in LazyTown. In comparison, it was worrying how low Sportacus had set the bar for the residents’ accident proneness. As if on demand, it had started with its alarm and after a quick look around, Sportacus had found Mr. Meanswell hanging on for dear life from his roof by the rain gutter.

“I got you Mr. Meanswell. Just let go and I’ll catch you!” he shouted from below the dangling man.

“Sportacus? Thank you!”

 

Somewhat dishevelled, but safely back on the ground, the Mayor sat down on the steps to his front door while wiping his brow.

“My, that was a bit of a touch and go. I was cleaning the rain gutter, when the ladder suddenly disappeared! Whatever will we do when you’re gone?”

Sportacus was asking himself that very same question. The five-day streak with no accidents was over and the town was back to square one. “You really need to be more careful, Mr. Meanswell, you should have someone with you if you are to climb the roof.”

“Milford. Call me Milford, please,” Mr. Meanswell corrected him, “we’ve known each other for years now, Sportacus. And yes, I suppose you’re right.”

Sportacus looked around, there was no ladder occupying the ground. “You said your ladder disappeared?”

“Quite so. I wonder if perhaps Stephanie and her friends took it. They were saying that they would start with constructing the stage today,” the older man trailed off.

That did sound like a plausible reason. “Do you want me to go look for it?” Really, by now he just needed an excuse to go see them.

“That would be splendid, thank you, Sportacus! Though, I think I’m quite done with climbing the roof for one day, could you perhaps just tell them to bring it back here when they are done?”

“Sure thing, _Milford._ ” He smiled and winked as he did a backwards flip over the hedge.

 

That had been roughly fifteen minutes ago. When he had located and closed in on the group his initial plan had been to make his presence known and ask about the ladder, followed by a reprimand about taking things without asking first. Those plans were quickly altered when he heard Robbie in a shout off with Stephanie. Correction. In a shout off with Stephanie _about Sportacus_. He had quickly scaled a nearby tree to undetectably find out what all the ruckus was about and how it involved him.

“Would you stop it?”

“But you said you would-”

“Go bother Sportadweeb! He’s dying to see you lot! I’ve had it up to here with you! I said I would help to an extent, not do the whole thing for you!”

From Sportacus’ position he could see an ugly flush spotting Robbie’s cheeks and neck. He was really at breaking point then.

“But, Sportacus-” Stephanie tried to argue.

“ _No!_  Trust me, he doesn’t care about the play in the first place!”

Sportacus wanted to object, the play meant a great deal to the children and he wanted to see what they had come up with.

“It means more to _you_ , than it does to _him!_  He’s been moping around for days and it’s sickening! He cares more about being with you, than this piece!”

Had he? He guessed he had been a bit down lately when he hadn’t seen as much of the group of town children than usual. And he supposed loitering in the ballpark and doing tricks with a soccer ball by himself hadn’t improved the impression of Sportacus as a lost stray. He wasn’t sure if Robbie had genuinely picked up on it, or if it was a loosely based argument.

“I see more of you than he does and this is all wrong! Let me be for a moment at least, please?!”

Maybe it was time that Sportacus let himself be known. He climbed down, mindful not to be detected. He didn’t want to give the impression that he was prone to spying. Which he arguably had just been doing.

“I was here about a missing ladder, but it sounds like you could all use a break from all this shouting,” he said loud enough to be heard over the raised voices.

“Sportacus, we were just talking about you!” Ziggy exclaimed and got promptly hushed by Trixie and Stingy in unison.

He played oblivious, “you were?”

“Please, take them off my hands, I beg of you!” Robbie cried and shoved Stephanie in Sportacus’ direction not so gently.

“You guys alright?”

“Yeah,” Stephanie answered, “Just, you know. Debating ideas. Loudly.”

“Mhmm,” he hummed in reply.

Trixie jumped in, “we could really go for a break though.”

“Yeah, how about some soccer, huh?” Pixel added.

Sportacus grinned and looked over at Robbie. “You sure?”

“Yes! You have like, no idea!” Trixie dragged him away.

Sportacus waved to Robbie. Robbie gave a lame wave in answer and walked away to wherever. Sportacus turned his full attention to the children surrounding him. “So, soccer? Sounds like a great plan!”

 

He would have to admit, even if it was only a way for Robbie to get the children off his back, Sportacus had missed playing and interacting with the children. The soccer game was what he needed and what the children needed too, judging by how the tense atmosphere had eased up after a while. After their match, they began to talk and joke like normal again.

Pixel approached him. “Thanks, Sportacus. You were right, we did need a break.”

“Happy to help. Will you be heading back now?”

“Nah, I suspect Stephanie tired out Robbie. He was supposed to help us with setting up the stage today, but personally, I think Stephanie asked too much out of him when she started pushing him for carrying parts of the scene back and forth. Not to talk about the make-up Stingy kept bothering him with. I still don’t understand the difference between theatre and casual make-up. It looks clownish to me either way,” he said and made a face.

Sportacus smiled gently. Pixel was the oldest and also the easiest to talk to about these kinds of things. “You know how you can be overwhelmed, when you’re playing with the rest?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s how it’s for Robbie. I don’t think he is used to all the attention at once.”

“My parents say that I’m shy and will outgrow it.”

“Sometimes, for some people, it’s harder.”

Pixel nodded sagely. “I hear you.”

 

The children went to Pixel’s house for some video games. Sportacus didn’t particularly mind. They could use the down time. Personally, he was going to go find Robbie. It was far better than being left to his own devices and he would have to admit, that he had been craving their interactions lately. There was something about Robbie’s cynicism and quick wit that drew him in again and again. He only wished that he had discovered much earlier how pleasant Robbie’s company could be. Then their shared history might have been quite different.   

 

Sportacus would have expected Robbie to have made his escape back to his lair to recuperate. To his surprise he found him snooping on Mr. Meanswell and Ms. Busybody by her fence.

He also discovered that the man was talking to himself. “Give it up, Milford. She’s not interested in what you’re offering,” Robbie was muttering.

“What are you talking about?”

Robbie twitched and recovered, he pointed over the fence at the pair. “Ugh, would you just watch this? Nauseating,” he sneered.

Mr. Meanswell was, once again, trying to woo Ms. Busybody. And, once again, doing a poor job out of it. Sportacus was having a serious sense of déjà vu of sneaking and eavesdropping on people. “Can you fault him? He really likes her,” he defended the poor enamored man.

“She’s toying with him and he keeps making a fool out of himself. I’ve seen it before. They’ve been doing this for years now. If she really was into him, she would have reciprocated long ago.”

“Can you blame him for trying.”

“It’s a farce.”

Sportacus couldn’t help, but blurt out, “don’t you believe in love?” He hadn’t meant to say that, but, he did it anyway. One of these days, he’d learn to think before he spoke.

Robbie scoffed, “funny coming from you, but, ehh,” he shrugged, “believe and believe. Not saying that love doesn’t exist, it’s just not my cuppa.”

“That’s a pretty glum outlook.”

“Once again, funny coming from you. When’s the _arranged_ marriage coming up?”

Sportacus had figured out what Robbie was up to by this point. Robbie had caught on to that the subject made Sportacus uncomfortable and whenever they would get into territory that made Robbie twitchy, he would change the subject to Sportacus’ marriage in hopes that it would shake Sportacus off. Just like how the children used Robbie’s promise to get favours out of Robbie on Sportacus’ behalf. Robbie used the subject of the upcoming marriage to shut Sportacus up and change the subject. Well, not this time.

“The twelfth and I am _very much_ looking forward to it.” He smiled, baring teeth.

Robbie’s eyes widened a fraction. “That soon? That’s in six days, less than a week!” he almost gave them away with how loud he was.

“Yes, and?” Sportacus didn’t see the problem here.

“Let me get this straight. You go directly after the festivities?”

“The morning after, but yes.”

“You’ll barely touch ground when you come home, just to get hitched! Didn’t you say you wanted to get reacquainted with this girl, before you took the next step?”

“After the wedding. We’ll have lots of time for that afterwards.”

He growled, “you thick dumb…” Robbie breathed slowly through his nose and exhaled. Seeming to calm himself. “Alright, listen. No wait, better yet.”

Sportacus once again wished that he could read Robbie’s mind when the man indicated for him to come with him.

“Let me show you something.” Robbie walked away, fully expecting Sportacus to follow him. Which he also did. Upon seeing where they were headed Sportacus gave pause. “Robbie, why are we going to the Mayor’s office? Both Mr. Meanswell and Ms. Busybody are back at her residence.”

“Yes, which will make this much simpler,” Robbie replied without looking back and continued up the steps. He unlocked the front door, using a key Sportacus suspected that the man had forged for his own needs. “Heroes first,” he said and did a little curtsy, gesturing for Sportacus to pass through.

“Why are we here, Robbie?”

“You’ll see,” he spoke cryptically and squeezed past Sportacus over the threshold of the main office.

Sportacus protested, “this is trespassing.”

“Don’t mind me, I’m only repossessing something that belongs to me in the first place,” Robbie countered and started to go through Mr. Meanswell’s desk. “Good blackmail material, but not what I was looking for,” he grunted and pulled a face. Not finding what he was searching for, he turned his attention to the filing cabinets lining the walls. “Nope, no, nu-uh, interesting but alas no,” he mumbled under his breath. His gaze travelled up above the cabinet he was rummaging through and exclaimed a cry of triumph. “Right in plain sight, of course!” he sing sang and took a framed photograph down from the top of the cabinet. "Okay, let’s vamoose.”

“Robbie what are you-?”

“No time, let’s go,” Robbie ushered him out the door and locked it behind them. He tucked the framed picture under his arm and hooked his other around Sportacus’, leading them to the edge of the park and to a very familiar bench.

Sportacus sat down, followed by Robbie. He thrust the framed picture barely seconds later into Sportacus' arms. “Take a look at this, will you?”

He turned his gaze down to the picture in his hands. The face looking back at him was familiar. “I’ve never seen you in this wig. Why does Mr. Meanswell have a photograph of you?” he let out.

“Take a closer look, Sportablind. That’s not me.”

Sportacus examined the photograph closer. At first glance, you would believe that it was Robbie, stark black hair, high cheekbones, distinct shin. The lips were fuller, though and a generally softer touch to the face, than to the person seated next to him. The eyes were the same, despite the fade from years and light exposure, the green gray eyes looking back at him as if caught in the middle of a coy conversation, -they were the same as Robbie's. It dawned on him like a slap to the face. “That’s your mother, isn’t it?”

“Bingo.”

“Let me rephrase. Why does he have a photograph of your mother?”

“Why do you think?”

“I... don’t know. Robbie, I don’t know where you’re going with this?”

“Take another look at her, what are the first words that come to your mind?”

Sportacus looked down, she wasn’t conventionally pretty, her features a bit too sharp, but, “I..” he was stumbling with his words.

“Enchanting? Beautiful? It’s alright Sportaflush, you’re a red-blooded male. She had that effect on people. Still do. And that’s a lot to say about a eighty-year-old who should be playing bingo with the other old hags, but nouh, apparently, it’s not exciting enough.”

“But....”

“Milford was in his early twenties when we moved to LazyTown,” Robbie continued, “and just like most free available men, and married ones too, he was drawn to her like a moth to the flame.”

She was not the only one that could be enticing, Sportacus thought. This was a rare moment of Robbie allowing Sportacus to catch a glimpse of his more honest and exposed self. And all he could do was helplessly watch how the light caught in Robbie’s eyes, that mirrored those in the picture in his hands, and how his lips moved as he formed words. He shook off the realization and tried to focus on the actual words that Robbie was aiming at him.

“She was married no less than eight times. And that was _after_ I was born. Let me tell you, when your mom drags home a man that’s barely eleven years older than you for the second time, you start to question the grand scheme of the universe. I can barely imagine how Gla- err, _Glen_ felt about it, they were his exact age. Mercifully, she never gave Milford a second thought. That would have been traumatizing.”

Sportacus noted the hiccup in Robbie’s brother’s name, but was too caught up by Robbie to point it out.

“What I’m trying to tell you is not a sob story, but, I’m trying to caution you about this marriage deal.”

“That’s why you’re so cynic about love?”

“Were you even paying attention? I’m saying that you should get to know this girl, before you get hurt.”

“But I already know her.”

Robbie snatched the photograph out of his hands. He rubbed a thumb along the frame’s edge. “You’re not listening. Well, it’s your funeral,” he said solemnly.

 

A funeral indeed. Robbie left Sportacus sitting on the bench, clutching the framed picture to his chest and fully intending to bring it back to his lair. They made promises of seeing each other the following day and Sportacus reminded Robbie that he didn’t need to do all that Stephanie asked. If he needed help, then he knew how to reach him quickly. The reply was somewhat positive as he left.

Sportacus stayed a while longer on the bench and finally gave in to what he had realized earlier. Probably weeks ago, if he had listened to his conscious properly. How had he not seen it coming? The playful banter? The lingering glances? He had accepted long ago that Robbie was attractive. But, not that he was falling for the tall, lanky, strange man!

He would perhaps have pursued it. Had he not already been betrothed. Had they not spent the last years fighting. Had they not a history of animosity. Had Robbie not already made it clear that he didn’t think of Sportacus in that way.

He looked up at the clear blue sky and swore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just gotta kick someone in the teeth to get some progress.
> 
> Edit: I accidentally wrote ninety. The age has been fixed to eighty-years-old.
> 
> And yes. It's THAT photograph.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over sharing is caring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to re-upload this chapter for various reasons. If you left a comment on the previous upload, I apologize profoundly.

What had to be more taxing on everyone involved, more than Robbie and Stephanie butting heads, was when the two of them actually agreed on something and worked together.

“A little more to the left.”

“What Pinkie said, but way more left and up.”

“Guys?” Sportacus was holding the backdrop vertical, while Trixie was somewhere on the other side, bracing and securing the legs. They were using the old auditorium, it had needed some restauration however. Especially after that the kids had set the drapes aflame and accidentally started a small fire. There had been a lamp involved. Sportacus did not know the details and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He was there in time to put it out and that was all that mattered in the end, but it was safe to say that they needed another adult around that wasn’t Robbie. Sportacus was glad to be able to ensure everyone’s safety during constructions and once again be involved with the group’s project. In one day, they were almost finished.

 

It had been a good distraction too, if he had to be sincere, even if a major part of the dilemma he needed a distraction from was standing by the end of the stage.

Sportacus liked to think that he wasn’t someone who ran from their problems and this was no exception. What should he have done? Avoid Robbie? Not likely. It wasn’t Robbie’s fault that Sportacus was having a personal crisis. He had decided to simply roll with the punches and deal with the fact that he had feelings beyond the platonic spectrum for the man. Who knew, maybe this was nothing but a fleeting fancy, some last nervous quirk that would go away.

He called for Stephanie’s and Robbie’s attention again. Robbie looked up from his sketch, directly at him. He had a pencil tucked behind his ear and a rare unguarded look on his face that turned into a small smile. Sportacus felt how his chest constricted and butterflies fluttering in his stomach at the sight. Nope, there went the last lingering shadows of doubt. He had it bad for his ex-antagonist. He felt ridiculous, the moment he’d acknowledged what he felt it was like someone had released a dam and he’d turned into a love-sick teenager around Robbie. It would have been funny, under different circumstances and involving other people.

“The background is almost done, is there anything else you need?”

“What? Trying to withdraw your services?” Robbie said, although, his words lacked their usual bite.

Sportacus was more thinking of the children. Ziggy, Pixel, and Stingy looked a little rugged and tired, and Trixie looked like she had been on the brink of a fit before she had grabbed the wrench and disappeared behind the backdrop. Away from the odd pair of overseers.

Stephanie spoke up, “actually, I think we are done with the stage. The buildings have been mounted on wheels and the bed is in place too. We need to go over a few scenes however.” There was a collective of groans and moans from the rest of the group.

That meant that Sportacus had to leave. He was allowed to help with the stage, but that was all. The play itself was still off limits.

“Robbie,” she continued after shushing her tired friends, “why don’t you keep Sportacus company while we finish up?”

“He’s not a baby, I’m sure he can take care of himself,” Robbie sniffed.

 

In the end Robbie accompanied Sportacus outside, claiming that he was doing it to get out of any last-minute work that Stephanie might conjure up.

“I wouldn’t mind your company actually,” Sportacus found himself saying.

“Really? I mean, of course, I’m a delight.” Robbie adjusted his vest and took a quick look at his pocket watch. “Did you have anything in mind?”

“I need to stretch, if you wouldn’t mind we could talk for a bit?”

Holding up the backdrop wasn’t heavy work, but the static position made itself reminded by a twinge in certain areas.

“As long as you don’t try to make me do it as well.”

He really needed to loosen up. More than he’d first thought and he’d started to do a couple of yoga routines as well. He managed to keep a conversation up, despite twisting his body into what Robbie had dubbed a Sporta-pretzel.

Sportacus arranged himself into a lotus position, signalling that he was done. Robbie was lying down on the patch of grass next to him. Looking completely at ease and relaxed.

He let his gaze linger for longer than necessary over the display, he looked back up to Robbie’s face, only to find Robbie looking straight back at him.

“Something on your mind, Sportadopey?”

A lot of things, actually. Some of them better suited for in the dark. He cleared his throat and said something entirely else that he had been thinking about since Robbie had shown him his mother’s portrait, “if you need someone to talk to, I want you to know that I’m here for you.” For another thirty-six hours, at least.

“What the-?” He frowned. “Where is all this coming from?”

“I mean if you want to talk about your mother. Or anything else really, you know.”

Robbie narrowed his eyes, saying, “wait a minute. Is this about yesterday?”

“You said that she liked fast men and then that she took some home, and I assumed…” Oh boy, he had misread the implications, hadn’t he? Great, he was mortified. Foot, insert into mouth.

Robbie sneered in distain, “you assumed the worst. And grossly wrong at that. This here is a prime example of why I never bring up my family.” He closed his eyes and growled in frustration. “Listen, ugh, she didn’t _sleep_ with them, she was tricking and scamming them! They ran errands and fixed things around the house and lavished her in gifts and money, in hopes of getting in her favour. She had tons of prospecting suitors, but she only ever bothered with those that could support her expensive habits… And insane gambling… Mostly the insane gambling. So, you can remove your finger from the dial to Social Services, Child Services, or whatever. The only real issue, apart from what you virtuous soft heads call morals, was the wagging of tongues among people that could put Ms. Busybody to shame.”

“Oh…”

Robbie was on a tirade, “like your family doesn’t have skeletons rattling around in the closet or other sordid family secrets. There is no such thing as a happy perfect family. I told you about mine, now it’s your turn. It’s only fair. You got something you want to share with the class? Troubles in school? The opposite of having to eat your yucky veggies? Hmm?”

Robbie had indeed unpromptedly shared some of his background with Sportacus. He bit his lip, trying to think of something that was deemed safe enough to share. “I barely saw my dad when I was young?” he tried.

“Ooh, here it comes! Do I need to get you tissues in case the waterworks start flowing? Never mind, tell me all the juicy bits. Absent father, this is a classic!” Robbie had rolled onto his stomach and braced his head on his knuckles to grin up at Sportacus. He gestured for him to go on.

Sportacus gave him a half-hearted glare. “He came home as often as he could. He was around my first years, then he started his training for becoming a numbered hero and when he received his title I barely saw him at all, because he was out on missions.”

“Your old man was a hero too?”

“Yes, he still is. You’ve met him. Number Nine?”

“No way!” Robbie gaped.

Sportacus yelped when Robbie rushed up and grabbed his face between his hands and brought it close to his own. Robbie frowned and turned his head from one side to the other.

“Let me guess, you got your mother’s eyes?”

“I, no... My grandmother’s,” he stuttered, feeling a hot blush coloring his cheeks. For half a second there he had thought that Robbie was going to headbutt him, or kiss him.

“You got the same profile as him,” he said and moved Sportacus’ head to look up. “Same prominent nose too. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection earlier!”

“There’s nothing wrong with my nose,” he protested.

“I didn’t say it was. It suits you.”

“Thank you?”

Robbie finally released his face. And retracted slowly to an arm’s length away. “Yes, very handsome.” Sportacus wasn’t sure if the brittle tone in his voice was bitterness or sarcasm. The butterflies in his stomach wanted it to be neither.

“So, goody two shoes Number Nine is your dad. Is that why you became a hero? To get closer to him?”

“Not exactly. Becoming a numbered hero… I can’t describe it, but, it felt like it was what I was meant to do. It felt _right_.”

“Nope. Can’t relate.” Robbie sucked on his teeth.

“When I reached legal age, I began my own training in the capital for nearly five years before I took over the title as number ten from my uncle.”

“Your uncle? Is everyone in your family a damn hero, or something?”

Sportacus snorted, “no, far from it. He’s not really my uncle, not by blood at least. He’s just been around for so long that he’s practically family. He’s the one I told you about that could help with the questions about your magic. I wrote him a letter, but he hasn’t replied. My uncle is probably back at Skaleyjar, helping out on the farms and keeping an eye on the puffin bird population with my family. Or, he could be out travelling. You never know with him.”

“Skaalejarr?” Robbie tried to mimic the name.

“A cluster of islands where I was born and where most of my family still lives,” Sportacus explained. “Most humans think that it’s completely deserted, save for a handful of human owned sheep farms, but our homes are actually cloaked with a type of Sjónvherfin which reminds of what you do.”

“That word meant _sight-warping_ , correct? What do people see then, if they don’t see your home?”

“Ruins, mostly. When I was really young, I used to run along the borders of the charms and blow raspberries or trick shoot pebbles at humans that stepped ashore.”

“You? You were a little troublemaker? Holier-than-thou Sportaflop? Impossible!”

“I was seven! My grandfather was so angry with me. I swear I can still feel the sting as he took me by the ear and dragged me back inside. Not that it helped much,” he chuckled at the memory, “I was right back at it when the next group of humans came around.”

Robbie was gasping for air from laughing so hard. He looked at Sportacus, then broke down into another fit of laughter.

“But yes,” Sportacus answered Robbie’s question, “all they saw were piles of rocks and left with strange little stones filling their pockets that they had no idea how they got there.”

“And that’s how your people stay hidden?” Robbie wheezed out.

“Yes, the elven church that I’m getting married in, for example. It’s located on Flatey, a close by island that’s human occupied, but they can’t see it. It looks like a particularly large slab of rock to them. They sense that there is something off about it and know from old stories that it’s an elven church, they can only perceive the stone, but not the building connected to it. Pretty much all our charms work like that.”

“Sorry, you lost me. _Church_? You have your own church? Where do you even begin to hide a building like that?!”

He spoke more than he usually did, and he did not seem to be able to stop. “They’re not as big as human churches. I don’t know how the charms work. The church on Flatey is hidden by runic inscriptions. Generally, the illusions are a bit like when your costumes come undone; Once you see past it, it’s obvious that it was there all along.”

“All I asked was if you had any childhood trauma, but this is way better info!”

That realization hit Sportacus too. He had only meant to share a safe amount, but had let his mouth run and had probably said too much. He could already hear his father giving him the scolding of a lifetime. ‘ _Centuries of secrecy, and you go and spill it all to the first pretty human face you see! Might as well give out the location of the elven court while you_ _’re at it!_ _’_  Sportacus didn’t need his _pabbi_ to reprimand him. He was doing a perfectly good job all by himself.

 

Robbie snapped his fingers in front of Sportacus’ face. “Hello, anyone home? Earth to dumb-dumb?”

He must have zoned out, he should probably eat something and renew his energy. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

“Thinking? Eww, that’s stupid,” Robbie wrinkled his nose.

“You sound like Trixie.”

Robbie let out a theatrical gasp. “You take that back!” he said in exaggerated disbelief. He pushed Sportacus, which barely fazed him, tired or not. This appeared to disgruntle Robbie somewhat.

He laughed, “no, I definitely think the children are rubbing off on you.”

“As if! If anything, they’re taking after me. I’m a terrible influence. Just look at you, you’ve barely moved an inch. So much for your glorified stretching.”

Let’s stroke Robbie’s ego for a bit, there was no harm in that, he thought. Not as long as Robbie kept smiling like that at him. His worries of sharing too much with an outsider faded and he basked in Robbie’s smile. It was selfish and would do him more harm than good in the end, but he couldn’t help himself.

Sportacus reached into one of his hidden compartments in his vest to retrieve a fruit.

 

Nothing.

 

He started patting down his vest and pants. Sportacus could have sworn that he had an apple on him. He _always_ did.

“Looking for this?” Robbie tossed a ruby red apple between his hands, a sly smile playing on his lips. He must have taken it when he shoved him. Pretended to shove him. “Really, I should dispose of it. But, here you go, one revolting sportscandy for the health nut.” He offered the fruit to Sportacus.

He reached for the apple, but he faltered momentarily, hesitating. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’d been offered one of the man’s candy apples.

“For the love of….” he grumbled. “It’s a normal apple, I swear on my-”

 

Sportacus cut Robbie off before he could finish the sentence. “Don’t!” he shouted.

 

He flung himself against Robbie and silenced him with a hand over his mouth, bringing them both to the ground in the process.

Robbie was staring up at him, his eyes impossible wide. Sportacus was bracing himself on his arm next to Robbie’s head and hovering inches above him.

 

Sportacus breathed the words again, “don’t.”

 

Robbie wiggled and he was pretty sure the angry noises the man under him made went along the lines of _‘Are you mad?!_ _’_ and _‘What the hell is wrong with you?!_ _’_

“Listen, Robbie, I’m sorry. People like using phrases and making oaths swearing on someone’s life, or worse, their own.” Robbie made an inquiring noise that he interpreted that he was still questioning his sanity but do continue. “I’m an elf and you’re, well, you have magic. And I don’t want to risk you to accidentally make a binding oath or something like that. Especially over an apple.”

 

He deemed it safe to remove his hand from Robbie’s mouth. “I was going to say _my recliner_. But good to know, I guess,” he said after he had wiped his mouth. The apple was clutched to his chest in his other hand as a last barrier between the two men. Sportacus swallowed hard and drew back, allowing Robbie enough space to brace himself up on his elbows. “I didn’t figure you for the superstitious type,” he huffed.

“I’m not taking any risks. Not about this,” he stated. "Your magic might make something permanent."

“Then take the apple, or I’ll chuck it.”

 

He took the offered apple, he wasn’t sure if he still needed it anymore. Not after the spike of adrenaline currently coursing through his body.

 

One more day. He could do this and be selfish for one more day, he thought as he climbed the ladder up to his blimp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: The play. \o/
> 
> I have my final exam soon, so most of my focus will be on studying. Hang tight and thanks for putting up with this loooong mess.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither of them asked for this.

His last day in LazyTown, Sportacus tried to let the realization sink in. It felt unreal. He occupied his time with running errands around town and helping Mr. Meanswell and Ms. Busybody set up decorations in the town square for the feast that would take place after the play. Most of his assistance had consisted of helping Milford from seriously hurting himself while setting up said decorations. Sportacus could conclude that the rest of the townsfolk would handle his absence fine, it was Milford he was starting to get worried about. The rotund man was clumsier than Robbie. Speaking of Robbie, Sportacus had not seen him at all and the clock was ticking closer to late afternoon and they would have to gather in the auditorium.

When the decorations were up and Milford were out of harm’s way, for the moment, Sportacus found himself shooed away from there as well. Something about final touches and surprises. Sportacus could care less for that. Especially, if it involved any of Bessie’s longwinded speeches. First the children and now the adults, the only one that had seemed to have caught on that Sportacus was feeling alienated was Robbie. How ironic wasn’t that? And now Robbie was tied up in whatever the children were throwing together in the auditorium.

Sportacus shook off the gloomy mood, there was no use in _moping around_ like the other man so eloquently had put it. To make time pass faster he took the opportunity to put together small gifts for the children. It was mostly standard hygienic articles and sports equipment that they would have use of, but he also gathered things that he put in a bigger gift box for Robbie as well. Things that he hoped the man would appreciate after Sportacus had gone.

Time did fly faster than he’d anticipated. He’d just barely wrapped all the gifts when the blimp’s interface informed him that he should get ready to attend the play. He politely thanked it and descended down the ladder to set foot right outside the large building. As convenience would have it, he landed at the exact same moment as Robbie opened the entrance doors. He would never stop being surprised with how high pitched the normally baritone voiced man could scream.

“Are you serious? You _are_ trying to scare me to death, aren’t you?!”

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t and he didn’t bother hiding it. He grinned wide at Robbie.

“I’m onto you, you… You terror. You’re trying to put me into an early grave.”

Sportacus laughed and clasped his shoulder. “Will I see you inside?”

“Yes, I’ll have to set up the doors. Then help Stingy with his face. Again. And help Pixel with the sound control equipment and then there’s Ziggy, and… Urgh.” Robbie hung his head dejectedly, mumbling, “maybe scaring me to death would be kinder.”

He laughed more and gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “Great, I’ll save a seat for you,” he winked.

Robbie coughed into his fist and nodded. “I guess.”

 

Sportacus found himself a seat near the front middle and not long after, people started to mill into the auditorium. He recognized most of them as teachers and the children’s parents, some he did not and figured that they must be relatives from out of town that had come to watch the children perform. He got a few odd looks from those that didn’t know of him and exchanged pleasantries with those that did. Some grumbled and threw him questioning glances when he explained to those trying to seat themselves next to him that the seat was already taken. Even more so when they found out that it was for Robbie Rotten of all people. Milford and Bessie had already found themselves seats on his other side since long ago and Bessie kept looking like the cat who got the cream. Sportacus was beginning to worry that Robbie wouldn’t show up when the lights dimmed and the music started to play.

“Sorry, I got caught up. On the plus side, Stingy will make a great clown after all that eye shadow and blusher,” Robbie’s low voice murmured directly into his ear.

Sportacus startled, he had not sensed Robbie approach him in the dark. To him, Robbie had simply materialized out of thin air. In the low light, he could see that Robbie had changed into his maroon suit jacket in velvet. It was very flattering and accentuated his shoulder to waist ratio quite well. He tore his eyes up to Robbie’s and smiled. “You’re here now at least. And just in time,” he added as the curtains drew back.

Stephanie stood at the centre of the stage clutching a mic stand like it was a life line. “Welcome everyone. We are all very happy to see you here and it is with pride that we, this year, present to you our school’s annual play.” There was an irritated murmur from somewhere behind the curtain, most likely Trixie, if his hearing didn’t deceive him. “I’m getting to it,” she whispered in the direction of the voice and turned back to the audience, smile still firmly in place. Good save. “We would like to dedicate this year’s play to someone who has been a big support for our town, who has the biggest kindest heart and… And who I think that we owe a lot to.” She squinted and searched the audience before her eyes finally landed on Sportacus and smiled brighter than the sun, “Sportacus, this play is for you.”

She took the mic stand with her and disappeared behind the curtain on the opposite side. A moment of hushed voices in the audience and then the music started playing again with Stingy entering the stage. Robbie hadn’t been kidding, that was _a lot_ of make-up. “Oh, woe is us all. Nobody does anything,” he bemoaned loudly.

 

The plot was easy enough to follow. A small town that was stuck in a rut and where life had become stagnant, until a hero emerged and things were starting to change to the better. He snickered behind his hand at Ziggy’s character who had gotten stuck in a window. He more than vaguely recognized the scenario. That had taken place earlier that winter. Robbie had started to fidget and look at his pocket watch and around the auditorium.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered to him.

“I can’t see Pixel anywhere. He should be on stage by now,” Robbie whispered back, unease seeping into his voice.

Sportacus looked back on the stage and noticed that the children up there were starting to look anxious as well.  

A loud creaking noise and an audible snap accompanied by a terrified outcry came from the light rig above the stage. Sportacus was out of his seat and up on the stage to push Ziggy out of the way and catch the falling spot light before his crystal had even begun to warn him of the impending danger. Followed by the lamp was Pixel. Sportacus caught him as well in his arms and set him gently down. “Are you okay?” he asked both Ziggy and Pixel. They nodded a positive.

Stephanie took the stage. “We’ll have a ten minute break before we move on to the second part!” she announced, a bit harried and the curtains shut close moments after that. The lights went back on fully and Sportacus saw Robbie, followed by Milford and Bessie make it back to them.

“Well, there’s no way in hell that they’ll buy that _that_ was part of the show.”

“Language,” Sportacus warned him and nodded his head to indicate at the present children. “Pixel, what were you doing up climbing the light rig?” he asked the boy.

“One of the spots would not respond like I wanted and I thought that I had time to fix it, before it was my time to go on stage again. I guess that I didn’t have time to both be in charge of the sound and light, and act at the same time.”

“Told you so,” Robbie scoffed.

Pixel threw him a dirty look. “I didn’t even want to be on stage. I prefer the technical stuff,” he huffed and crossed his arms.

“Maybe we can work something out,” Stephanie offered.

“How? I’m the only one who knows how this stuff works and if I don’t go on stage, we’ll be one person short.”

Sportacus straightened up and looked Robbie over, “I think I have an idea.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Robbie shirked away.

“Of course!” Stephanie exclaimed and clapped her hands together, “Robbie knows most of our lines! He could play Pixel’s part!”

“Oh no. Nope. Not gonna happen. Absolutely one hundred and ten percent no!” Robbie started to back away slowly from the emerging group of children looking up at him with pleading eyes.

Sportacus flanked him and took him by the wrist and whispered into his ear, “what’s the matter? We both know you could pull this off in your sleep.” The quickest way to get Robbie to come around was to appeal to his ego. His hand slid down to grasp Robbie’s. “So, why don’t you give them a small taste of how great you are, _Master of disguise_?”

Robbie narrowed his eyes at him. “Oh, you’re _good_ ,” he growled. He threw his free hand up in defeat, “hope you’re all happy now, there are no take backs!”

Sportacus clasped his hand a little tighter to put emphasize to his words, “thank you, Robbie.”

“This is your fault,” Robbie bemoaned.

 

The curtains parted once again seven minutes later. The seat next to Sportacus was now empty, but that didn’t matter. The play continued from where it had ended before the incident and no one, save for the three individuals in the front seats, knew that Pixel was now permanently staying by the controls and the individual on stage was actually Robbie.

“Is that kid Pixel? That’s some impressive make-up.” He heard a female voice whisper to her partner behind him. He smiled wider and felt a little proud on Robbie’s behalf. Robbie had taken the challenge in the way only Robbie would and managed to fool the eye that he indeed was Pixel playing the character of a police man. Even Milford and Bessie who were sitting by him didn’t know what to make of it.

The play went on smoothly from there on, there were a few slip ups. But, from what he gathered, Robbie was the one who had better track of their lines and rolled with the children’s blunders, and started to improvise with them until they found they’re lines again. At least, that’s what Sportacus thought was going on, judging by Trixie’s occasional stuttering, and Ziggy going _‘Uhm_ _’_ and biting his lip until Robbie prompted either of them with a comment or line. Robbie had been stiff and uncomfortable with the knowledge that he had a large crowd watching the first minutes, then he gradually had relaxed and forgot about the eyes upon him and moved around on the stage like it was his second nature. Sportacus could feel his heart swell at seeing Robbie up there.

It was over almost too soon. The plot came to its completion with the imaginary town being saved and all the characters becoming heroes themselves. The group had gathered in a line and gave their bows as they received their applauds. The real Pixel had taken to the stage and Robbie had sneaked off to the side, to Sportacus' dismay.

Robbie didn’t get far though. Stephanie had taken the mic stand back with her. “We’d like to extend extra thanks to another special person to us,” she began, “who helped us put this together and stepped in when we needed him the most. A round of applause for our Robbie! We could never have made it without him!”

Robbie got pushed back on stage by non-other than Bessie, who must have intercepted him. “Hey, no pushing! I can walk by myself, thank-you-very-much!”

He hesitated when he found himself in the focus of everyone there. “Oh, what the heck,” he said and tore off his wig, make that plural, wigs. I beat of silence. Then the auditorium was starting to fill with applauds and shouts. Whatever Robbie had expected, it had not been that. He looked stricken with shock before his face lit up with unadulterated delight and he gave a big bow. Among the loudest cheering people was Sportacus. He caught Robbie’s eye and he could swear that time stilled. Robbie was pale in the harsh spot light, beads of sweat on his forehead and his theatrical make-up had begun to smear at the edges, and there were smudges of mascara under his eyes. And Sportacus could not have cared any less about that. In that moment, Robbie was the most beautiful creature in the world. No one else mattered.

 

Sportacus was in love.

 

He was in love. And he was to marry someone else.

 

They got ushered out of the auditorium and to the feast that was awaiting them outside in the town square. Sportacus found himself pushed down in what had to be a seat of honor. He had a hard time keeping track on what was going on around him. There was food of different kinds, surprisingly enough, most were dishes he could partake in too. Bessie had put thought into this. He felt a little guilty that he would rather be anywhere else right about now. He searched the large gathering of people, looking for anything resembling Robbie. He wasn’t in the crowd he realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to talk to Robbie. Just seeing him would be a comfort about right now. His attention was soon caught up by the children surrounding him. He remembered their gifts and called them to him to be distributed among them.

There was crying. He was ready for anything the children would throw at him, be it another mess of snot or tears, he was ready. He wasn’t so much prepared for adults to shake his hand with tears in their eyes, even less for Bessie to throw herself around his neck, and wail before she recollected herself and was led away by Milford.

He needed air and he needed to find Robbie. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the familiar outline of the person he had tried to locate for the whole evening. Robbie had donned his suit jacket again and observed the feast from a distance before he stuck his hands in the suit’s pockets and turned away. His heart quickened when he realized that Robbie was walking away from the gathering. He didn’t even excuse himself as he got up and made pursuit. There was a surprised exclamation about Sportacus missing out on Bessie’s speech. He couldn't care less right now. He'd apologize later.

 

He caught up to Robbie on a hill leading to Robbie’s home.

Sportacus called his name and flat out ran the last of the distance up to him. Robbie froze mid-step and hunched in on himself.

Robbie turned around to him. He had washed off the runny make-up and reapplied his usual, more casual, look.

 

You’re missing out on your own party,” he said, “I don’t know how you failed to notice, but it’s kind of in your honor.”

“You were leaving. Why?”

“This function isn’t my shtick. Too noisy… Too tearful.” The last part was barely over a whisper.

Understandable, Robbie didn’t do well with large gatherings. It was better like this anyway, Sportacus had desperately wanted to get some privacy with Robbie and this was as good as any chance he could hope for to say goodbye and give Robbie his gift. “Stay a little longer, I have something for you.” He called up to his blimp hovering in place above the town, “gift!”

“Gift? Isn’t it the departing party of the exchange that should receive farewell presents? I didn’t bring you anything. Keep it.”

The gift box, wrapped in blue paper, fell into Sportacus’ waiting hands.

Robbie gave him a dubious look before he accepted the gift and tore open the wrappings. “What am I looking at here?” he said when he’d removed the lid.

“It’s nothing special,” Sportacus said, clasping the back of his neck and shuffled his feet, “but, I thought that since you dislike loud noises and lack proper ear protection, this would be something you’d have use of.”

“I have several earmuffs.”

“I said _proper_ ear protection.” He leaned in and pointed out the different contents of the box. “These are regular earplugs. These,” he pointed to a different set of plugs in plastic, “are special earplugs from the music store. They filter out sounds above a certain decibel without affecting sounds on normal levels. You can watch TV, or do other things without being bothered by loud noises by the children. I… Didn’t know what size you needed, so I got one set of each. They come in red and purple and you can even attach jewellery… Uhm.” He was rambling now, wasn’t he? “And _these_ are _real_ earmuffs, not excess material from your chair. Look, they’re in orange too!”

He fell silent and stepped away. Robbie wasn’t exactly reciprocating the excitement. In fact, Robbie was staring down at the contents in the box with a stony expression.

 

Sportacus shifted his weight from foot to foot, chewing on his lower lip. Usually, Robbie would have voiced his opinion by now.

“Sportadork,” he spoke at last, sounding as rough as sandpaper, “is this your idea of a care package?” 

“I just thought…” he trailed off. Robbie was staring at him, his lips in a thin, bloodless line. “I’m sorry, I presumed that you’d like it.”

Robbie didn’t respond with words, instead he dropped the box, allowing it to fall to the ground at his feet with a thud. Sportacus winced inwardly and looked down at his own feet. Of course Robbie didn’t like it, he must think of him as patronizing and arrogant. He didn’t see Robbie step around the box and towards him.

 

“Sportacus?” he uttered his actual name, low and hoarse.

He looked up at Robbie.

 

He only caught a glimpse of his face before he found himself pulled into a tight embrace. Sportacus wrapped his arms around him and buried his face under the taller man’s chin. Robbie was warm and firm against him. Their frames slotted up against each other perfectly.

“What happened to asking for consent?” he said in a weak attempt at humor.

Robbie let out a surprised laugh. He squeezed Sportacus tighter and let one hand travel up to rest at the back of his neck. His thumb started to idly play with the dark locks of hair sticking out from under the hat. “This is different. I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he said wistfully into the darkening evening, “but, I’m going to miss you.”

 _‘If only you knew,_ _’_ Sportacus thought and buried his face deeper into the hollow of Robbie’s neck. He wanted, oh so badly, to spill it all to Robbie right there and then. Of his doubts. The emotional stress these past months. And how he felt towards the man that again and again had openly displayed disdain for him. He couldn’t. It’d be cruel to dump something like that on Robbie and then disappear. He could feel his throat become tight and his eyes starting to sting.

“Sport… Hey, you’re shaking.”

He was. Sportacus had started to silently weep, against his own wishes and his shoulders shook with every silent sob he fought back in vain. A wet sob broke through and escaped his throat, wrecking through his body.

“Oh no,” Robbie startled. “You never cry and if _you’re_ crying, then _I’m_ going to start crying.”

Sportacus started to openly weep, “I don’t want this.” Curse his weakness and cowardice.

“Want what? Leaving, or getting married?”

Why did Robbie always have to be so blunt about this and _always_ hitting the nail on the head? He remained silent for a while, trying to calm himself down. Robbie’s thumb was still making small circles in the nape of his neck. “I don’t know. Maybe? No?” he eventually confessed.

“I knew it,” he rumbled against Sportacus’ chest. Robbie pulled back to face him, but not letting him fully out of the arms circling him. Sportacus quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Robbie implored him, “then why did you agree to it?”

“I did want it… At one point. But, not anymore.”

“What changed?”

He wanted to say _‘Everything_ _’_. “It doesn’t matter.” He turned his head towards the music and lights emitting from the town. “I don’t want to leave LazyTown. I don’t want to leave _you_.” There. That was as close as he dared to say it outright.

“Here’s a crazy idea; don’t go. Tell them that they can stuff it, because you’ve changed your mind.”

He laughed, it sounded hollow to his own ears. “It’s too late for that.” Robbie was about to argue back. Sportacus stopped him before he got the chance to, “no,” he smiled up at him, “it really is.”

Sportacus stood on his toes to reach up to Robbie and placed a feather light kiss on his cheek. He thought he heard Robbie’s breath hitch as he drew back. One last quick hug before he let go and stepped away, slipping out of Robbie’s arms with ease. He would always have this at least.

“Goodbye, Robbie,” he said and walked away, leaving Robbie behind.

 

As the rest of the evening carried on in the town square, Sportacus didn’t know of how Robbie had stood dumbstruck on the hill, or that he had much later descended to his lair with the box clutched tightly to his chest. That he had twisted and turned all night without getting any rest. At the break of dawn, he didn’t know of the sleep deprived man sitting under the billboard and give the disappearing blimp a mock salute. Nor, of how Robbie had later collapsed down in his recliner, stare into the nothing, bargaining with himself silently. How he had picked up the phone and dialed down a phone number before he could talk himself out of it.

“Hello dear brot… Would you stop screaming?!... No, I don’t know what time it is over there and I don’t care!... Listen… _Listen!_... Thank you. What do you say about crashing a wedding?”

 

Sportacus had no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻


	15. Chapter 15. Act 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A change of scenery and the much awaited Glanni joins Robbie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you have been waiting for this moment for a long time. Also the tone of the story will now change to a more "adult" theme (I blame Glanni).
> 
> Quick warning! My depiction of Glanni is a douche bag, rude, hypocritical and morally skewed.
> 
> I might also have to change the rating to M. Please, tell me what you think.

Twenty-four hours after Sportacus had left, Robbie was dragging two large suitcases down the baggage check in at the closest International Airport from LazyTown and hating every second of it.

It was an absolute nightmare. Early Sunday morning traffic was hell incarnated and here he thought the journey by the night bus had been bad. He zig zagged between the massive traffic of people in an endless tirade of _‘excuse me_ _’_ s and _‘pardon_ _’_ s', and profound swearing under his breath. Robbie was on the brink of being completely overwhelmed when he’d after much ardor had checked his baggage in and sought shelter in a secluded nook in the wall where he could catch his breath, whilst waiting for his wayward sibling to turn up at their agreed rendezvous point.

Robbie heard Glanni approach long before he was within view. By some fundamental instinct he couldn’t explain, than that he was primed to recognize the gait of his brother and the hollow clop of cheap Chelsea boots. It could also be part of that magic mumbo-jumbo that Sportacus had been going on about.

He found the idea of being linked to Glanni, in any way whatsoever, disturbing and he quickly tried to reject that theory. There was a shift in the air that sent a chill down his spine that made the idea, of something being off, harder to dismiss and Robbie spotted Glanni as people divided like the approaching monochrome figure was the Moses of jet sets.

At first glance, it didn’t look like Glanni had aged considerably the past years since they’ve met in person. Inky black hair cropped short and a slim, tall built. He was perhaps lankier than before but he carried himself with bombast and towered over the crowd in more than a physical sense. His eyes were obscured by a pair of aviator sunglasses and he had a single duffel bag slung over his shoulder. At some point these past years since they’ve been face to face, Glanni had had the good taste of ditching the cat suit. He could only hope so. Not that what the man was wearing now was much better. He wore a black turtleneck and faux leather pants so impossible tight that they, to Robbie’s and everyone else in the vicinity’s dismay, didn’t leave much to the imagination.

Glanni had detected him as well and sauntered over to him now with purpose. Robbie got overpowered with the sensations of cigars, the clinking of wine glasses, leather and coy laughter in darkened rooms. He shook his head, that wasn’t right at all. What was it Sportacus had said? Once you’d seen through it, it was obvious. If there was any truth to it, now might as well be a good time to try it out.

Robbie thought that seeing through an illusion would be harder, but once he knew something was off, it melted away instantaneously. There was a pop in his head and whatever Glanni was broadcasting disappeared. Only to be replaced by the odour of cheap strong cologne, barely covering the stink of stale cigarettes and... Something else. Robbie gagged.

Glanni waivered, a twitch in his bushy brows, before he recovered and got close to Robbie. He tilted his aviator’s down to peer over them at Robbie and grinned. “Come here often?” he joked. Robbie noted a fading bruise to the side of Glanni’s bridge and eye. A healing black eye.

“Hello, Glanni,” Robbie simply greeted him.

“What’s with the cold shoulder? I’m the one who had to drop everything and travel across the country at your whim.”  

He could already feel a smell induced migraine form at his frontal lobe. “You smell like a brothel,” he said and dragged Glanni to the restrooms.

Glanni followed willingly. “Is that what I get after four years, lil’ brother? And how do you know how _that_ smells like, hmm?”

“Five. And you smell just awful.” There was no way that Robbie would be locked up in a flying can with recycled air for hours next to this human dumpster.

Robbie leaned against the counter and glowered at any passing person that entered the restroom to use the urinals while he waited for Glanni to wash off the horrific cologne.

“Do you got any concealer or foundation on you?” the muffled sound of Glanni’s voice came from inside the turtleneck as he wrangled it back on.

Robbie conjured up a stick of concealer from one of his pockets and handed it over. “You just presume that I carry this stuff around?”

“You love this ninny stuff, of course I know you carry it.”

“Big talk, from someone who uses it too,” Robbie pointed out.

“At least I don’t play dress up like a closeted drag queen,” Glanni drawled while he applied the stick to hide the bruise and then applied a nude lipstick of his own to his lips.

Robbie bristled. Glanni was such a hypocrite. He shoved Glanni’s ticket against his chest hard enough to bruise. Robbie ignored his brother’s pained grunt, “one ticket with Iceland Air for Mr. _Fabiano Fabulouso_.”

“Thank you,” Glanni pocketed the envelope and exited the restroom with Robbie in tow.

 

Entering the gate went without a hitch. Glanni had gotten a little twitchy when his duffel bag went through the x-ray, but other than that, there were no issues.

“Welcome aboard, Mr… Fabulouso,” the female flight security glanced up from Glanni’s fake passport and handed it back.

“ _Grazie, signorina bella._ ” Glanni winked and waltzed though the check point like he owned the damn place. The woman blushed and giggled. Robbie fought back the reflex to gag again.

 

The seats had cost a minor fortune but at least they had leg space and, to Glanni’s delight, a drink menu. Robbie was less delighted about that. He sank into the cushions and started leafing through a tourist’s edition lexicon he’d brought.

“A book?” Glanni sneered at the small pocket book in Robbie’s hand. “You have no use of that when you got me to translate. That’s why you need me.”

“I can’t rely on you to translate everything for me. Also, I’m afraid of heights… And I forgot.” He did forget that flying included being high up in the air. “This is a good distraction as any.”

“You should have told me. I could have hooked you up with a little something.”

“No, thank you.” Best case scenario _a little something_ could be horse tranquilisers, worst case scenario, he’d wake up missing a kidney. And the prospect of being stopped when they’d reached their destination because he was high as a kite did not appeal to him. At all. Period.

“You really didn’t think this through, did you.” Not a question. A statement from Glanni. The fact that Glanni was involved, was proof enough that Robbie hadn’t thought this through. He’d called him because he needed his language and persuasion skills. He leafed through the pages, it was all garble to him.

“Why did _you_ come along then?” Robbie asked. It was a good valid question.

Glanni snorted, “apart from that you need me? I’d love to get some payback on the elves. I had a good thing going on, before that sports elf turned up and ruined it all.”

“Huldu.”

“Sorry?”

“They prefer being called huldufólk.”

“Does it look like I give a damn?”

Robbie didn’t get the chance to berate Glanni, as he was interrupted by the flight attendants starting their safety instructions. He put on his belt with shaky hands. “I can do this, I can do this,” he muttered to himself in a mantra.

“Relax, idiot. It’s not like we’re gonna crash mid-air. What are the odds?”

“One in eleven million,”  a squeaky voice caught their attention. A spectacled face under a red baseball cap peered at them over the back of the seat in front of Robbie.

“See? What Pointdexter said,” Glanni gesticulated at the young child. Robbie figured the boy was around Ziggy’s age. Was it weird that he was already missing the little monsters back home? He hadn’t told anyone of him leaving.

“But, everyone knows that it’s during take-off and landing that the risk is at its highest,” the boy continued. Robbie kicked the seat and blew him a raspberry. This earned him a yelp from the brat and a dirty look from his mother, who pulled the boy down and fastened his seat belt.

The plane got in motion.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no.”

 

Robbie stumbled out of the small toilet and received a pitying look from one of the flight attendants.

Glanni hadn’t wasted any time getting his hands on a welcome drink, Robbie discovered when he’d made his way back down the narrow isle. “I’m impressed you could hold yourself from throwing up for that long,” he leered as greeting. “I think we all could have done without the screaming during the actual take-off, though,” Glanni added and looked through the menu. “I wonder how many pillows they’ll allow me?” he mumbled as Robbie sat down and called another attendant to them.

The answer was one set for each. Glanni compensated by also snatching Robbie’s, a sleep mask and as many small whiskey bottles he could fit on his tray. Robbie got himself bags of chips, chocolates and soda to wash down the taste of bile still lingering in his mouth. Of course, Robbie was the one to pay for it all, but as long as Glanni didn’t ask how Robbie could afford any of this, he was in the clear.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to read?” Glanni asked him. Robbie was clutching his can of soda in his hands and biting his lip. _‘Try not to think about being thousands of miles up in the air. Try not to_ _…’_ Robbie was working himself into a meltdown.

He seethed back at his closest target and distraction, “aren’t you supposed to drink yourself into a stupor?”

“Touché,” his brother said and unscrewed the cork to one bottle out of many. “Entertain me. Tell me about this elf who’s wedding we’re ruining.”

“Sportacus? And could you call him anything else?”

“Fairy boy? That’s as far as I’m willing to stretch it.”

“Urgh.” That wasn’t an improvement. “I found out that he’s getting married against his wishes and I’m going to talk some sense into his thick skull.”

“How noble. And, very out of character for you.”

“He grew on me like a fungus and what do you know about me? I’ve done despicable things to him. Things that put your conning to shame. Maybe I feel like cutting him a break for once?”

His brother scoffed, “like what?”

“Put him in jail, frame him for theft, shoot him out of a cannon and aim the cannon at him, and trying to make him disappear _forever,_ making him crash in meltdowns several times with sugar disguised as his beloved sportscandy.” Listing just some of the things he’d done made Robbie’s heart sink. Wow, things did pile up and this was only the tip of the iceberg.

The last part caught Glanni’s interest. “Sugar?”

“His body shuts down if he eats candy,” he clarified, “I think it’s the same for all of his kind.”

“So, they’re like, a society of diabetics?”

“No. I don’t think that their bodies can process refined sugar at all.”

“…Interesting,” Glanni mused.

Robbie suddenly got a bad feeling.

“We’re not making any one crash, you hear me?” he growled in warning.

“On my honor,” Glanni raised his hands and smiled, “I won’t.”

“Robbie glowered at him, “I don’t want him hurt. He means something to me.”

Glanni’s brows raised high in surprise and he gaped at Robbie. “Well, put me in a dress and call me Glenda! Of course, that must be a regular Friday evening for you.”

“Enough!”

“No, in all seriousness. You actually have feelings for this guy? What the hell, Robbie, is _this_ what this is all about?”

“He’s a friend, Glanni. I’m trying to stop _a friend_ from doing a huge mistake!”

“I’m not buying it. Tell me what he looks like.”

“He’s short.”

“Robbie,” Glanni warned.

“Okay, he looks like Adonis grew a silly moustache! Happy now?” he admitted.

“Now we’re getting somewhere. So, he’s a looker. What stopped you?”

“Nothing. I don’t think of him that way.”

Glanni laughed, “get real, Robbie.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated, my ass. You want him, don’t you? Even if you’re not _his_ type, you could just have put on a dress and tricked what you wanted out of him.”

The very thought made Robbie sick to his stomach. “No.”

Glanni must have caught on what Robbie thought of the suggestion. “Wow, you got it bad. You sure you don’t want some of this?” He waved one of the bottles in Robbie’s face. Glanni shrugged when Robbie rejected it and started pouring himself a new shot. He downed it in one go and smacked his lips. “What happened?” he asked.

Robbie twirled the can of soda in his hands. “I knew that he was out of my league the first time I saw him and shut whatever feelings that might happen down, hard and good. Sure, he’s good looking, but I’m not some animal in heat. I didn’t spend years pining after him. Quite the opposite. He’s a looker, but he’s also noisy, patronizing and insists on healthy lifestyles. I couldn’t stand him.”

“So, you acted like a wretch and did your damnest to get rid of him. I can relate to that.”

“And then I got to know him. He can relax and he’s patient, funny, smart… And…” Robbie emptied the soda before he said something mortifying.

Glanni grimaced. “People like us don’t fall in love. I thought you had it figured out by now.”

“People like us? What does that even mean?” he threw his hands up. “ _People like us?_ ” Good thing that he’d drunk the contents of the can already.

“Calm you tits. Look, I’m not the person to go to when it comes to the touchy-feely stuff. You didn't strike me either as it, but I can only imagine.”

“Your base line are fleeting meetings, Glanni.”

“I haven’t seen you in a relationship either,” Glanni retaliated. “And that’s the way _I_ like it. People bore me. I have a strict rule of not mixing friends and sex.”

“You have friends?”

“Acquaintances? Anyway, once the line blur they start to _expect things_. He grimaced into his drink. “So, no. A hole is a hole and sex is sex.

Robbie didn’t have any moral high grounds to stand on and judge Glanni. Not on that aspect anyway. He licked his lips, before he continued, “I don’t even know if I love him. I don’t have any references. I know what lust is,” he felt his ears heat up, thankfully his brother didn’t mention it, but sat patiently for him to carry on, “but _this_? I feel lost. My body goes havoc; my stomach knots up, I can’t breathe and my heart beats one mile a minute just thinking of him.”

“Not to burst your bathtub bubble, but that sounds like an anxiety attack.”

It did sound like it. Maybe it was a false alarm. “He did kiss me,” he added meekly.

“He did? Then what are you worrying about?”

“On the cheek.”

“For fuck’s sake, that’s like kissing your nan, that doesn’t mean jack.”

“You weren’t there, okay!”

“Next thing you know, you’re going to start spouting romantical nonsense like, he has _eyes like the ocean_ and other disgusting drivel,” he drawled and put the glass to his lips.

“I was going to go with _Gatorade blue_ , but sure.”

Glanni choked on his whiskey and guffawed. After wiping his chin he said, “I’m crap at this, but I think I feel the alcohol finally kicking in, so I’ll divulge you on some brotherly advise.”

Robbie knew that whatever advice Glanni had, it would be awful. He braced himself.

“Word to the wise,” he knocked back what had to be his final shot, “never sleep with a German.”

“I’m going to regret asking this, but why?”

“There will always be three in the bedroom; You, them, and the Third Reich. Nothing ruins the afterglow more than an impromptu discussion about the second world war.”

“Yup, I regret asking,” Robbie groaned.

“No, no, there’s a moral to this story.

“Which is?” he asked before he had the wits to stop himself.

“There’s more than emotional baggage you’ll have to deal with. If you’re serious about pursuing this fairy boy, then you should anticipate cultural clashes and most likely, a heated discussion about who’s country is the guiltiest of the latest global fuck up.”

“You’re drunk. You’re almost starting to make sense.”

“Also, Germans are falsely advertised as kinky. Most boring lay I ever had.”

“Aaand, there we have it.”

“Do you mind?!” They had brought the wrath of the brat’s mother upon them. “There are children present,” she hissed.

Pointdexter was currently staring at them with eyes as big as saucers and a slack jawed expression on his plump face. It would have been hilarious, had it not been for the middle aged woman who looked like seconds from breathing fire. The brat had probably been listening in on the obscenities for who knows how long.

“I’ll leave you to deal with this,” Glanni said and pulled the sleep mask over his eyes, and cozied down.

Whether Glanni left him to deal with the angry woman, or his own jumbled thoughts, was dubious.

 

And no, the landing when they reached Reykjavik wasn’t any better than the take-off. This time however, Glanni was prepared for Robbie’s panicked shriek and smothered him with one of his pillows as they descended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petition to throttle Robbie?
> 
>  
> 
> Argh! I should be studying!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie doesn't deal with stress very well and a half baked plan isn't helping. Neither is Glanni really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to be spitting out these chapters right now...

“I think we can safely add Aviophobia to the list of things that freak you out.”

“And I think I had a near death experience,” Robbie replied, “no man is worth this. I’m never putting myself through this again.” The world was tilting the wrong way in his head and his legs were still rubber.

“So, that’s a no on getting on the flight going north?”

“I’d rather walk on burning coal and chow down on carrots.”

Glanni bounced on the balls of his feet, “you know, some people pay good money for that.” Robbie was sure there was. Few things surprised him these days. “I think I see your luggage coming up on the carousel. Either that, or you’re not the only one with awful taste.”

To be fair, Robbie’s suitcases did stand out. But, he’d never have to worry about mixing them up with someone else’s baggage, as they were screaming in purple and orange. “They’re stylish,” he defended them.

“They’re a dead giveaway is what they are. No witness would be able to forget these things.” His brother imitated a high-pitched elderly voice, “yes, officer, that’s the man that committed all these acts. I know for sure, because I would _never_ forget something as ghastly as _that,_ and I’m not talking about the face.”

“Your face,” Robbie countered.

Glanni made a rude gesture and grinned.

“Help me get them off the carousel.”

“Nah, I’m good over here.”

“Jerk,” Robbie wheezed as he tried to catch up with the second suitcase rolling away. Who was in charge of the speed setting on these things? “Come to papa, you little fiend!”

 

With all luggage accounted for, Glanni got back to the subject of means of transport. “Well,” he drawled, “if we’re not flying, what are you planning?”

“A rental. It should be easy.” Robbie could spot a sign in English announcing the car rental just on the other side of the hall from the baggage carousel of doom.

“Nice. Get us a four-wheeler. Make it a big one, would you be a pet. I’ll stock up on food while you do that.”

“With what money?” Glanni offering to buy anything with his own money was not known to happen often.

Glanni flashed two small wallets. The man was fast, he would have to give him that. Robbie patted himself down just to make sure that he still had his belongings on him. Yup, his own money was still safe and secure from Glanni’s sticky fingers.

“Wait!” Robbie shouted, realizing something, “where should we meet up?!”

“The garage. See you in twenty!” And the man was gone, engulfed by the crowd. Robbie could feel the dread of being abandoned creep on.

 

“ _See you in twenty_ ,” Robbie echoed Glanni’s parting words. “I’ve been here in this place for thirty,  _and_ _I still can_ _’t find the car, or that_ _basta-!_ ”

“What. The hell. Are you doing?” Glanni spoke from directly behind him. Robbie screamed in surprise and Glanni nearly dropped the bags from the convenience store, along with his own duffel bag and a lit cigarette dangling from his lower lip.

Robbie wailed, “I can’t find the car!” He was still recovering from the flight on top of barely having slept in two days, hungry and this was too many new impressions at once for the last day than he could deal with. And now, as the icing on the cake, he was lost in this garage surrounded by near identical vehicles. His whole face was twitching now and his limbs didn’t exactly agree with him. He was nearing breaking point.

“What’s the number plate and parking space?” his brother sighed and put down the bags, gesticulating for Robbie to show him.

Robbie handed over the folder.

Glanni took a long drag of the cigarette and looked down at the documents in it. He did a quick look around while blowing the smoke out through his nose. “Robbie?” he said.

“Yes?” Robbie asked. With a yell, he just barely managed to duck and avoid getting smacked over the head with the folder.

“You’re standing by it! Look, it’s right behind you!” Glanni cried out and pointed to a white hatchback identical to the ones by its sides, that was indeed, parked in the space right behind Robbie.

“Oh,” he said dumbly.

“Honestly, Robbie,” he shook his head. “Apparently, I’m the only one that can help you.”

It was starting to feel like it. He began loading the trunk. “What took you so long?”

“I had to make a phone call. We’ll need to make a detour into the city. I need to catch up with an old colleague.” Glanni toed the last of the suitcases before Robbie hefted it up and into the trunk before he shut it. “Have you been working out?” he questioned him, one eyebrow arched as he took one last drag and crushed the cigarette under the heel of his boot.

“Are you kidding me? Why would I even do such a repugnant thing?” The nerve.  _Working out?!_

“Knowing you, you probably packed all your belongings and toiletries in a frenzy. Your luggage tends to weight.” He shrugged.

“Absolutely laughable,” Robbie muttered under his breath and got into the driver’s seat.

 

Half an hour later a truck behind their car was angrily honking at them. “Did you get your license out of a cereal box?” The hatchback had died on them in the middle of a roundabout. Again.

“That wasn’t funny the first five times and it’s still not funny now!” Robbie growled and turned the ignition, trying to coax the stubborn car to restart. The truck behind them honked again. The driver was really laying it on. “It’s okay to hate me, I hate myself too,” he groaned.

“And you still haven’t answered the question.” Glanni gave the truck driver the finger, “I thought you said you could drive stick.”

Getting out of the garage had been an ordeal. He’d barely gotten the car out of the parking space before it stalled. Again, and again, _and again_. Robbie had resorted to screaming in unbridled fury and frustration every time it happened.

On the plus side, Glanni was now wearing his seat belt, after nearly braining himself on the dashboard and letting out a stream of obscenities that would make the most hardened offender cry.

“I think I know what the problem is,” his brother announced after looking through the maintenance manual, “it’s an ECO car!” Glanni’s voice turned into a growl, “you got us an environmental friendly car?”

“Not so environmental friendly after I’ve torched it,” Robbie snarled and drove out of the roundabout like a bat out of hell. If he abused the throttle and burned the slats to ruin then it was fine. But the closer they got to the centre and urban driving, the trickier it got. “This better be worth it, Glanni.”

“Oh, trust me it will.”

Yes, but for which one of them, Robbie was starting to wonder. This wasn’t a small detour. They could have gotten on the motorway and gone north straight from the airport, but, nouh! They had to crawl through the neighbourhoods!

“Turn left at the next junction,” Glanni said. “There, I see him. Damn, he’s put on some weight. Okay, park us over there and I’ll go talk to him. Stay in the car, I’ll be back before you know it.”

Glanni was out of the car before Robbie could object and stalked over to a man with the body mass and the look of the type you’d expect to guard doors in back alleys, or a debt collector in it for the work perks of dangling people upside down by their feet.

 

Argh. Stupid brother and his stupid shady associates, stupid car, stupid Sportacus for leaving, stupid Robbie for following!

 

He leaned his head against the steering wheel. “Robbie, what have you gotten yourself into?” he said to himself. He couldn’t shake the feeling of this being a one way trip, in more than one sense. He peered up to the pair outside the car. There was a lot of angry gesticulations on the big man’s part, but it didn’t look like it would come to blows. Not yet. He tore his eyes from the exchange and started rummaging through the grocery bags.

The packages of cigarettes and liquor were obviously Glanni’s. He dug into another bag. “Nice,” he mumbled. Chips, sodas, candy, chicken nuggets and strange bun shaped cakes covered in chocolate frosting. He just might forgive Glanni for having him temporarily stray from his goal. The third bag contained maps and leaflets. That was neat, there was information on the very area he needed to get to.

Good question. How was he supposed to get to the island?

He started eating one of the buns, his mouth filling with cream and chocolate icing. He momentarily forgot what he was doing and gulfed down another cream bun. Yup, he was definitely going to forgive Glanni.

What was he doing again? Oh right, finding a way onto the island.

He leafed through the pages. Friendly elf colonies, blah blah, he noted the islands that Sportacus was from, some text about trolls turned into stone, serves them right... Ah, there, Flatley tourism. There was a ferry from the mainland south of it? Excellent. Higher powers had decided to smile upon him for a change! He couldn’t see what times it departed, though… Oh, well. They had time, Robbie had a whole day to get there. It would be fine, surely.

He started on his third cream bun and looked over at Glanni again. Whatever they had been arguing about the situation appeared defused and his brother was shaking hands with the mountain of a man, and walked back to the car with a white bag in his grip that looked quite hefty.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Aren’t you nosy? It’s a rather unattractive quality, dear brother.”

“Glanni, what’s in the bag?” he pressed on.

“Insurance,” he said and put the bag inside his duffel and threw it into the back.

“If we’re getting arrested somewhere along the way for possession-”

“If you must know,” Glanni interrupted Robbie, “it’s to ensure my safety while we’re on this forsaken island of a nation. I haven’t been in this country for years, but I’m kind of persona non grata here.” Glanni carried on, his voice sober, “that’s why we drove out here first. I needed to know what the field looked like and who’s still in my corner.”

“What did you do? You never told me what happened.”

“It’s a terribly long outdrawn story. You wouldn’t be interested.”

Robbie nodded and drove.

“You wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to me, would you? The less you know, the better for the both of us. It’s nothing dangerous anyway, I promise.”

He couldn’t argue with that…

“Remember, I’m doing this for you, Robbie,” Glanni said softly. The moment was ruined by him adding, “even though the pay is shit.”

Robbie laughed, “I’m not paying you anything, except travel expenses and food.”

“See? I’m your best brother!”

He was Robbie’s only brother, but he refrained from pointing it out. It was nice knowing he had someone on his side for a change, who was willing to help. They should be practically strangers, but he found himself connecting with Glanni quite well, despite the age gap when he was a kid and how their meetings were sporadic at best. 

 

Robbie was trying to make sense of the road signs pointing him in the right direction of the motorway. This wasn’t a language, this was random letters and some he’d never seen before thrown into the mix and then jumbled together just to mock him. It didn’t help that Glanni kept distracting him with the noises of chewing on potato chips. Glanni had torn open a bag and was happily eating the contents, leaving Robbie to suffer in envy. “Turn right when we get to that fork in the road,” he said through a mouthful of chips.

“Gimme some of that.”

“No, you’re driving. Badly, but still, you’re driving.”

“You are the worst.”

Glanni said nothing but smiled as he popped another chip into his mouth. This was pure revenge for not letting him smoke in the car. Yes, there was a cigarette lighter installed. No,Robbie would still not allow that foul stink and eye stinging smog to fill the car.

Robbie mused aloud, “for being early afternoon on a weekend, I would have expected it to be busier. Sunday, or not.” Robbie would have anticipated far more people out and about this time of the day in a capital considerable more populated and bigger, than the quiet little country town he’d left behind.

Glanni’s eyes widened and he froze with a chip halfway to his mouth. “Robbie,” he swallowed on spit, “what time do you think it is?”

Math wasn’t Robbie’s forte, but he had a clock. He fished out his pocket watch. “Two in the afternoon? Lots of time to make it to an evening ferry.”

Glanni grimaced and remained quiet. It was kind of freaking Robbie out. “Give me strength,” he exhaled and looked straight at Robbie again. “Do you know what a time zone is?”

“I was ‘ _home schooled’_ by mom,” he made quotation marks with one hand on the home schooled part, “so no, I'm not sure what you are on about.”

“Should have put you in special needs class with the rest of the challenged half-wits,” he muttered. Robbie objected to that and loudly so. Glanni paid him no mind and continued, “take your little watch. Now, forward it six hours. _That_ _’s_ the time it is.”

“It’s eight?!” he gaped in shock, “But, how is it still this bright outside!” The car swerved and Robbie had to grip the steering wheel with both hands to avoid driving into the wrong lane, as he had started to point at the sun that was still very present up in the sky.

“I think they call it summer around here.”

“Glanni, you don’t understand! I need to get to Flatley island! Tonight!”

“Easy, before you have us killed.”

“I don’t know when the ferry leaves,” he changed gear and finally got the car on the road leading out of the capital, “and I’m not going to mess this up.”

“And they say I’m crazy single minded,” Glanni spluttered as he held on for dear life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's in the bag, Glanni!?
> 
>  
> 
> Let me tell you this first, I'm a good driver, in fact, I LOVE driving. Now, having said that, I harbor an intense hatred for the cars that belong to my workplace. So I gave them the cameo they deserve. To drive them you have to do the opposite of environmentally friendly driving. Which all in itself should be hilarious... If you weren't stuck in a heavily trafficked juncture and the light is green, but the car goes nnnoopeeeee. 
> 
> In the car...  
> No one can hear you scream.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The misadventures of Mr. Rotten & co.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are all real hotels... unfortunately.

There was no evening ferry.

 

Robbie stared out over the archipelago, shivering in the onslaught of the icy North Atlantic breeze. He never stood a chance, did he?

 

Even if the clock had been two in the afternoon, they would never had made it. Apparently, the ferry only departed twice a day, the last one being quarter before four.

Arriving, only to see it depart before his eyes would probably have been crueler. Then again, this _nothing_ of arriving, only to find out that he had almost given himself a stress induced ulcer in vain wasn’t favorable either. He felt… _Numb_. Mind you, he was coming down hard from the heights of the adrenaline and cortisol he’d somehow managed to ride for more than two hours non-stop.

Or, it could be the cold.

The thin flimsy coat in deep plum, that Glanni had thrown in his face after rummaging through Robbie’s belongings, didn’t do him many favors.  

Robbie strained his eyes and stared out over the archipelago, wondering if the island he wanted to get to was close enough to be within view. It was a little over ten and he _still_ had to shade his eyes with his hand.

Why wasn’t the sun setting?! He could have sworn that it had even gotten brighter the further north they’d gotten. It had moved sure, but the last dip down under the horizon didn’t seem to happen anytime soon.

 

“Are you done being melodramatic?” Glanni said somewhere to his far left, having been fed up with Robbie’s one-man performance of _‘Despondent man stares wistfully out over the sea after throwing a temper tantrum worthy of a toddler_ _’_ , -it was a working title, “it says here that the next one leaves the dock at nine tomorrow.”

“Yes, but how do I know that they won’t throw a morning ceremony? They seem obsessed with starting everything early.”

“Now you’re being stupid _and annoying_.”

It did sound far fetched even to Robbie in his state, but given Robbie’s track record with luck, it was a possibility he’d gotten day, year and country wrong.

“Come on, let’s find us some beds, I’m not sleeping in the car.”

“You’ll do that, I’ll stay here.”

“Not likely. It’s freezing out here and I don’t want to wake up tomorrow, only to find that you’ve driven the car over the edge of the pier, or hell forbid, that you’ve attempted to _swim_ out there.”

Robbie didn’t mention that he’d been eyeballing one of the smaller boats docked nearby. “Would not,” he said and jutted his chin out in defiance.

“Would too. Your impulse control is shite.” Glanni grabbed him by the collar of the coat and pulled Robbie along with it.

 

The harbor hostel was full, something about it being tourist season, probably by the same people that paid handsomely for fire-walking and wanted to switch the burning embers for freezing their bits off in Scandinavia instead. They had the same luck with the next hotel that looked alarmingly like a barn.

 

Look wise, this third place wasn’t a step up per say from the red painted wooden structure.

 

“Is that… Is that a church tower sticking up from the roof?” Robbie said in disbelief and stepped out of the car. The directions they’d been given matched up, there even was a sign in tacky red neon with the name on the front, but he still wasn’t fully convinced that they hadn’t taken a wrong turn during the one-hundred-yard drive down the street from where they had started.

The building looked like a Functionalism architect’s wet dream for an office building, all weird boxy ninety-degree angles and white plaster… Save for the bell tower, cross and all, erecting up to the sky from the roof.

Life had a peculiar sense of humor and Robbie wasn’t laughing.

“A bed, is a bed, is a bed.” Glanni huffed, “looks fancy enough for me and I have some standards, unlike others.”

 

It was a monastery, because of course it was. The receptionist had been beside themselves when Glanni had started with his Italian persona, going on in a tacky broken accent of what a good little god-fearing man he was, with contacts all the way up to the highest seat in the Vatican. The smitten receptionist, judging by the glassy eyed look they sported from Glanni’s influence, insisted that Glanni should meet the local nuns in the morning when they attended the chapel. Robbie was almost tempted to take them up on that offer, just to find out if Glanni would burst into flames by the sheer proximity of the holy sisters.

Glanni talked his way into a standard double, free of charge. Wow, he was good. Meanwhile, Robbie had to cash out for the only single room they had left and was also the only one without a flat screen TV… Fabulous.

 

His small hotel room looked more like a cell. The walls were an off white, no decorative paintings, sparse furniture in the same ashen polished wood as the floorboards. Did northerners hate colors? The only decorative feature was a large bay window overlooking the harbor and the ocean, but he couldn’t enjoy the view, it served only as a further mockery that he was forced to wait until dawn, figuratively since it never seemed to get dark. There was nothing else there to distract Robbie from his thoughts. He briefly wondered if the double Glanni had been gifted was as sparse as this.

Was Glanni as oblivious to what he did, as Robbie had been up until a few weeks ago? He thought back to the airport, his brother had to be aware to some extent. And now down in the reception desk, watching Glanni work his _literal magic_ was unnerving to Robbie. But, he’d have to admit that it would have been nice to wield the same influence as Glanni did, even when in disguise Robbie had to work hard to convince people to listen to him. If he had, then maybe then Sportacus wouldn’t have left LazyTown for this very insane reason. What the hell was the man thinking? This was the twenty-first century for crying out loud!

This would not do, he was dead on his feet, but attempting sleep would be fruitless, he’d better look up on Glanni. Anything to distract himself from thinking of Sportacus and if he was out there somewhere in the archipelago, snug in bed this time of night, or if he was as anxious over tomorrow as Robbie was.

 

Glanni’s room was just down the corridor and he knocked on the door. He caught a whiff of something sweet and fruity, what the hell was the con man up to now?

Whatever he was going to say to Glanni got derailed when Glanni opened the door no more than a foot wide to greet Robbie. The smell from the room was overpowering, syrupy sweet sticking to the back of his throat and he could not fight back the gag as it overtook his senses. He liked sweetness, but this was too much, verging on painful.

“What the, urk,” he had to breathe through his mouth or he’d retch, “what the hell is that smell?”

“Sorry about that, my container with aftershave broke and I’m trying to clean out my bag,” Glanni excused himself. “Was there anything you needed?” He stepped out into the corridor and to Robbie’s relief closed the door behind him.

“I heard that your sense of smell gets weaker with age. But really, Glanni, did you buy out a perfume factory and bath yourself in it?” Robbie was going to have to foot the bill for the odor decontamination of the room tomorrow. Glanni was truly dead set on creating a dent in Robbie’s bank account.

“Who are you calling old?”

“You’re in your early fifties, act your age.”

“You first,” Glanni lobbed back with a smirk and crossed his arms.

Well played.

“You still haven’t told me what you wanted.”

“Just wanted to check up on you. Are you settling in well? Is your room up to your holiness’ standards,” Glanni scoffed to that in amusement, “and as soulless as mine?”

“They could do with a decorator.” Glanni shrugged. “You’re stalling, aren’t you? Having second thoughts about tomorrow, are we?”

Robbie scrunched up his face, that was enough answer to Glanni’s inquiry, as a verbal would have been.

Glanni rested a heavy hand on Robbie’s shoulder. They were the exact same height without Glanni’s boots and he held his gaze. “It’s going to be okay. Trust me, I got you covered. Repeat after me; I trust Glanni, he knows what he’s doing.”

“What?”

“Come on,” Glanni coaxed.

“Uhm, I trust… Glanni? He knows what he’s doing?”

“Again, with more conviction this time.”

“I trust Glanni, he knows what he’s doing.”

“There you go. Are you feeling any better?”

“A little?” he admitted. Though, he felt more confused, but the sentiment was somewhat reassuring.

“Good, now get out of my sight,” he dismissed him, “I have a room I need to clean up.” He spun Robbie around and shoved him in the direction of his room. Robbie was more than happy to get out of the odor infested zone and thanked Lady Luck for giving him a breather from their ongoing feud and not gotten them the rooms with a joined bathroom.

 

Seven in the morning was only early if you’d actually had gone to sleep. Which Robbie hadn’t. This wasn’t the longest he’d gone without proper sleep, but the circumstances didn’t help his case. He was moody and short tempered when he knocked on Glanni’s door for the second time, urging for his brother to get a move on.

This time Glanni let him into the hotel room. Robbie instantly noticed that the smell from last night was gone without a trace. Glanni had done a good job of cleaning up, the room looked untouched, save for the bed and the trash can. There was a small empty bottle of cheap liquor in it, accompanied by an unmarked tin can. Robbie caught a whiff of the sugary smell again and stepped away from the trash can. What kind of wholesale did his brother get his toiletries from? On second thought, Robbie didn’t want to know.

 

They narrowly escaped getting dragged into the chapel to mingle with the nuns and exited the monastery, slash hotel to get back to the harbor well long before the ferry arrived.

Well on the ferry, after almost denting the vehicle in front of them on the car deck, no thanks to the hatchback's finickiness, Robbie found himself forced to wait again down in the restaurant. He was picking at the cheese cake he’d gotten while Glanni was chowing down on his pasta without a care in the world. Robbie missed being that carefree and laid back.

For the hundredth time, he questioned himself what he was doing. This wasn’t like him. He was Robbie Rotten, the prime example of lazy and lackadaisical. And now, here he was fretting and grinding his teeth in frustration over rushing, then wait, then rushing again, only to be forced to stand idly by while the clock ticked. And for what? To convince a man, that he used to scorn upon, not to get married. Not to mention that he had been stupid enough to confront himself on his own feelings about said man.

Not that anything would ever come of it. He wasn’t here to convince Sportacus to come back to LazyTown with him, or tell him of his pathetic attraction. No, he was here to talk sense into Sportacus’ thick muscular skull, to reconsider this inane path he was on. Robbie owed him that much after all the crap he’d done to him in the name of driving him out of town. Truthfully, LazyTown had been quieter and calmer after Robbie had stopped fighting Sportacus. How ironic…

“I think it’s dead already. So, you can stop stabbing that poor cake,” Glanni said, bringing Robbie out of his train of thoughts.

 

Once again, he turned to his brother as a means of distraction, thinking about Sportacus wasn’t helping his situation. “Hey, Glanni, I was wondering something.”

“About what?”

“What were you doing in Iceland, in the first place?” Glanni travelled around quite a lot in his line of profession, the profession being conning and running before the people he pissed off along the way got hold of him. Iceland seemed a little, off, even for Glanni.

“Urgh, this again?” Glanni grumbled. “To make a fortune, see if we still had any relatives kicking around that I could squeeze some money out of,” he said.

Robbie blinked. “Relatives?”

“Grandpa was Icelandic, or so mom told me.”

“Wait what? Why didn’t I know of this?”

“Why do you ask me? I thought it was obvious by the family name.”

“I thought it was eastern European, or something.” He shrugged. Glanni was the only family member who still went by their mom’s maiden name. Robbie had his deceased father’s name and dear old mom had changed hers numerous times during the decades.

“Wow, you really are daft sometimes.”

“Would you stop with the insults!”

Glanni ignored him, saying instead, “she even had me named after a stupid waterfall.”

Robbie continued a bit quieter, taking in this new information, “...Did you ever find them?”

“No,” Glanni said ruefully, “the only known relative mom had, was some old aunt of hers by the name of Sigrún Glæpur, or something, and it turned out that she bit the dust long before I got here. No spouse or children, all her earthly belongings had already gone to charity because they couldn’t get a hold on mom and tell her the news. A waste of my time and resources. But, hey, I though. If I’m already here, I might as well see what business opportunities it may present.” Glanni pulled a face as he sneered, “nutty elves was what. I had it good here until I ran into this little bastard in a small offside town. Didn’t even believe in them, until this short weirdo was rallying a whole town against me.”

“He did?” Sportacus had had ample opportunities to do that to Robbie, but had refrained from doing so. On several occasions. Robbie knew he hadn’t shown the same curtesy whenever he had the same chance.

Glanni hummed. “He went by the name of Íþróttaálfurinn. Weird name like that is hard to forget, it literally translates to _The Sports Elf_.”

The huldu was quite literal with their names it would seem.

“And the rest is as they say; history. They had me doing menial labor as petty punishment while they waited for proper authorities to come get me, of course, by the time they did arrive I had already left the region. Not long after that I returned to the states.”

 

A speaker announced that they would soon arrive to Flatley. The two men made their way back up to the car deck overlooking the archipelago.

 

“Look at the cliffs over there,” Glanni pointed, “it’s those sad clown birds.”

“Puffin birds,” Robbie corrected him, “they’re babies are called pufflings. It’s probably mating season, they're monogamous and stay together for decades,” he listed what he could remember off the top of his head, “and they’re almost threatened by extinction in some areas. Obviously not here,” he added dryly.

Glanni gave him an odd look. “You know all that about a stupid bird,” he said, “but you still didn’t know what a time zone was?” he continued as he fastened his seat belt and braced himself for the jerky start of the rental.

“I watch a lot of TV, sometimes there are late night documentaries and I’m too lazy to reach for the controller,” Robbie explained while trying not to drive the grill straight into the car in the front.

 

The village could pass for picturesque, with the bright colors of the buildings standing out of the barren environment in stark contrast.

“Is that the church?” Glanni nodded towards a white plastered church in the distance.

“No,” Robbie stated. Now here came another tricky part he hadn’t thought of. How was he supposed to find the church? “We’re looking for an elven church.”

“A what?”

“You heard me.”

“And what does that look like?”

“A particularly large rock.” The island wasn’t that big but if they were to look up every large rock they stumbled upon he would start weeping. Think Robbie, think. He pinched his brow, feeling the dull headache he had been nursing for a while, grow more intense. Didn’t the locals know of it by stories and such? “We should check out the tourist center,” he said.

“That’s a good starting point,” Glanni agreed.

 

The woman working the desk eyed Robbie apprehensively at his request. “You… Want to find the elven church?”

“Yes,” he huffed. He didn’t have the patience for this, was the girl deaf?

“I’m sorry, but may I ask why?”

This was getting them nowhere.

Glanni swooped in and shouldered Robbie out of the way. “I am terrible sorry _mia cara signora_ ,” he said in that irritating accent that had started to grate on Robbie’s nerves, “ah, my assistant has had a rough journey.” He conjured up a business card and handed it over to the woman. “My name is _Fabiano Fabulouso_. I’m here on business and to take in inspiration for my new _collezione di moda_ and I’ve heard so much about your rich history and culture. My assistant here,” jabbing a thumb at Robbie who was sneering at him in the background, “is here to help me take photos of this _fantastic_ o surrounding. So rough and captivating, so mysterious.”

“Oh,” the woman ogled the card, “I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you, sir. We tend to get people of the questionable sort that want to exploit the ruins and defile the elves homes.”

Robbie scoffed. Questionable sort. Lady, you had no idea.

Glanni gave her a shark’s smile, from this angle his eyes looked as dead as one too, Robbie felt another shiver run down his spine. “None taken, _la mia bellezza_.”

Ensnared by Glanni’s _charm_ , Robbie didn’t like the dual implication, she gave them a map of the island and circled the old hamlet that had been restored. The elves old dwellings should be close by.

Glanni thanked her for her generous help, showering her in random endearments in Italian. Robbie dragged him back to the car.

“Okay, that’s enough, Romeo,” he hissed.

“You are no fun. I got us the location, didn’t I, you ungrateful brat.”

Robbie massaged his brow again, his headache was truly getting worse. “Thank you, Glanni,” he said. It hit him that he’d never thanked Glanni at all for coming with him. “For everything,” he added.

“You’re welcome.”

 

The hamlet wasn’t too far away from the modern town. Robbie parked the car when they’d reached the end of the dirt road passing through the old town.

Glanni viewed their marked-up map. “Further up ahead that way is another old church, I think it’s the original monastery to the one we slept in. I’m guessing that’s not what we are looking for, though.”

“Nope,” Robbie said and started climbing a hill in the opposite direction and overlooked the landscape on the other side. A vast field of tall grass, and a handful of sheep among a gathering of stones and rubble, probably the ruins of the _original_ old town.

This had to be it.

“Alright, big rock that gives of weird mojo vibes, where are you.” He treaded carefully down the steep hillside and began inspecting the rubble and larger rocks surrounding him.

“Pardon me, madam,” he excused as he gave a sheep a wide berth. The flock appeared to pay them no bigger mind, which was weird, but Robbie had other matters to attend to than terrorizing sheep.

This was like finding a needle in a hay stack. In this case, needle being a rock among other rocks and hay being this high grass, despite the sheep’s best efforts of decimating it.

 

Robbie mumbled to himself, "if I was a magic rock, where would I hide?"

 

He looked over the stones as he waded towards the middle of the field, before he stopped dead in his tracks and blinked. That was… Odd? He turned his head just so and caught a vague shimmer in the corner of his eye. “Huh?” he said out loud. 

He crept up to where he thought he’d seen the mirage. A new shiver ran down his spine. This was starting to get ridiculous, was he getting a cold or something, he wondered. Robbie stubbed his toe on something and swore, loudly. He looked down at the offending object that had wronged him.

The slab of rock in the tall grass must have been quite impressive back in the day, but years of wear and tear had toppled over the obelisk and partially obscured it in the shrubbery. “What do we have here?”

“You found something?” Glanni waded through the tall grass up to Robbie.

“Found our rock.” It could be a random big stone, but something in the back of Robbie’s mind insisted that this was what he was looking for.

“Great! Now what?”

Good question. Robbie bent down to get a better look at the stone. The church was somehow anchored to this rock, but how? He uncovered the obelisk and ran his hands over the surface and down around the edges. He paused and ran his hand over a particular spot again. He could feel the faintest indentations and traced his fingers along the wells forming a pattern that most certainly wasn’t created due to natural causes. He thought he caught a glimpse of that shimmer again to his left, close enough to touch. He straightened up and turned to look at whatever was there straight on. His gut told him to ignore it, that there was nothing there to gain, but that _other_ , more insistent part of his mind told him otherwise, so naturally he went against his gut feeling and thrust his hand out.

 

The palm of his hand hit something cold and solid.

 

“What are you doing?” Glanni said from behind him.

Robbie tuned his brother out and focused on the air right in front of his nose. From where he had put his hand out was a ripple in the air, like a stone splashing into a still pond. “Gotcha!” Robbie cried out and tore down the spell. The pop in his head was more profound than the one in the airport and he jarred from the unsettling sensation. Oh, this was not good for his headache that now had blossomed into something vile and stabbing.

Robbie looked at a solid wall of rock and took one step back to take in the newly revealed structure. This had to be the backside, judging by the shape and the big stained-glass window of the chapel.

“Robbie, you are kind of worrying your good ol’ Glanni over here.”

“You don’t see it?” Robbie questioned.

“See what? All I see is this field and some sheep.”

Robbie gestured for him to come over to where he was standing. He grabbed Glanni’s wrist and pulled his hand up to the wall.

“Hey!” he protested.

Robbie was smiling like a maniac through the pounding pain in his head. “Do you feel that?” he asked and took his brother’s hand and dragged his palm along the stone wall.

Glanni furrowed his brow. “What the hell?” He then blinked and gaped. “ _What_ _the hell_!?” he repeated louder and looked up, finally seeing what Robbie was seeing. “Fucking hell, I don’t get paid enough for this shit!” he awed.

Grinning, if possible, even wider, he tugged Glanni with him around the corner of the building to find the entrance, the sound of voices grew louder, they were not the only ones out here.

Robbie caught a glimpse of people when he rounded the last corner, before Glanni yanked him back against the previous wall. “Idiot,” he hissed, “these people kept this hidden for a reason, how do you think they would react if two _humans_ came running out of nowhere?”

He hadn’t thought of that.

Glanni sighed in exasperation and peered around the corner. “Uhm, Robbie?” he said after a pause.

“Yes?”

“I have good news and bad news for you.”

“Spare me and let me look for myself,” he hissed back and peered around the corner too.

 

 

The good news was that this was most certainly the right place.

 

The bad news was that the wedding ceremony was to start very, _very_ , soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, at least I got MY happy ending! I got my Bachelor's degree this week and I'm now starting my Master's program in Political Science at the Gothenburg University tomorrow!!! This is very exiting for me, as you might understand, but, I'll TRY to have the next chapter up by next weekend.
> 
> I got my dream coming true and the happy ending that I've been fighting for, for almost a whole year. Now let's see if Robbie and Sportacus get their happy ending, shall we?


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two A**holes Crashes a Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I would like to thank everyone for their well wishes and congratulations.  
> Secondly, I am apologizing for this chapter... I'm not really sorry, though.
> 
> The chapter title is the title that I use when I save my docs on my laptop. Ergo, the Real title of this fic.

“Oh no…” Robbie moaned, “oh no, _oh no_ , _no_ , _no_.”

“Shh,” Glanni hushed Robbie and momentarily covered his mouth, pulling him lower down to the ground.

There was a gathering of people outside the steps to the large stone building. They did not seem to be too much of a hurry of going inside. Maybe there was still time? Or, it was already over… Robbie would be so lucky.

 

“That’s some pretty weird outfits,” he observed. Despite everything, he couldn’t help taking in every detail of what people were wearing.

From where he was spying, he saw that the men wore woolen breeches stuffed into knee socks and double buttoned vests varying from muted reds, blues and greens upon white shirts, with the exception of one or two in dark double buttoned jackets. All had handkerchiefs in more vibrant colors tied around their necks and dark tail caps.

“That’s traditional Icelandic folkwear,” Glanni whispered, “seems like they’re throwing one of _those_ weddings. You see the women?”

How could he not? Apart from the dark woolen gowns with intricate embroidery and silver jewelry, they had to wear the most ridiculous headdresses he’d ever seen. A few of them in excessively betasselled black tail caps but _some of them_ , jeez, someone should tell them that the curved sheet-like ornament protruding off the top of their headgear was absurd.

“What is she _wearing_?” he said in revulsion. It looked like one of the poor women was wearing a dunce cone hat with a veil stuck to it.

“ _That_ ,” Glanni said lowly, “would be the bride.”

“Oh.”

Besides the dunce hat, she was… Pretty. Robbie swallowed hard.

 

The spectacle was distracting enough, that the shape of their ears was the very last thing he noted.

 

Rounded tips to a point.

 

The stories were true then, elves really did have pointy ears.

 

Glanni pulled them back behind the corner. “Did you spot your fairy boy amongst them?”

“No.”

“Then he’s probably already inside.”

Robbie frowned and worried his lip. The pounding headache was making it hard for him to concentrate on a plan.

Glanni nudged him. “Hey, Robbie?”

Couldn’t he see that Robbie was thinking? “Mhmm?” he noised and swatted away Glanni.

“How many outfits did you pack your suitcases with, exactly? It looked like you’d dragged your whole wardrobe with you.”

“What the hell are yo-” The sneer died in his throat. He shared a knowing look with Glanni.

“Think you can whip something together that’ll help us blend in?” he grinned.

He didn’t answer, he scrabbled up from the wall and hurried back to the hill as quickly and quietly as he could with Glanni close behind.

 

Robbie patted the fake beard in place and adjusted the blue handkerchief around his neck. Not the finest work he’d done. He had thrown their outfits together in a hurry, but there was no time for finer details. He swallowed some painkillers he should have taken hours ago already and washed it down with stale soda. The sweetness had his stomach rolling as if he’d gorged on too sweet pastries for days on end. Another weird thing that was on the bottom of his priority list.

Glanni stepped within view from his side of the car. “How do I look?” he smoothed his hands over the navy-blue vest that was a perfect counter-part to Robbie’s muted red and tugged lightly on the fake mustache and goatee he wore. Robbie had noted that all the men had some sort of facial hair going on, might as well be on the safer side and give them both beards to hide their faces behind.

“You look like a hobo.”

“I think the kids call it hipster these days.”

Robbie groaned and took one last look in the side-view mirror. They looked passable enough for the folkwear that they were trying to mimic. “All set, let’s go before they’ve all gone inside.”

“One more thing, I can’t believe I almost forgot this the first trip down.” Glanni reached into the backseat and flung the duffel over his shoulder, grunting in exertion from the weight.

“Why are you bringing _that_ with you?” Robbie questioned in a stressed tone from the top off the hill, already sliding down towards the field.

“A distraction in case things go tits up.”

“Smoke?”

“Something like that,” was his cryptic answer.

Robbie didn’t have time for arguing and made haste back to the church.

 

They crept up to their previous hiding spot.

Good, there still was a couple of stragglers lingering outside.

 

“Alright,” Glanni spoke into his ear, “act natural and follow my lead.” He hooked his free arm under Robbie’s and led him to the front.

Robbie was sweating under his disguise and it was not from the heat of the many layers he wore. The two of them were receiving strange looks from the elves. For the first time in many years, Robbie experienced self-doubt in his capabilities. What if they weren’t buying it? Their attire looked like cheap Halloween costumes compared to the real deal.

“Focus,” Glanni jostled him, “you’re dropping character.”

Right. He could do this. He’d done crazier things than trying to sneak into an elven church brimming with people that most certainly didn’t want them there.

 

“ _É_ _g held ekki a_ _ð vi_ _ð hittumst_ _áður_ ,” a male voice caught their attention and called to them.

Glanni turned to the voice’s owner, a smile ready in place. The jolt in his stature was microscopic, but Robbie could practically hear Glanni’s mind come to a screeching halt and saw him working his jaw in an agitated expression. Curiosity incited him to turn and look at the stranger that had approached them.

 

His mind drew a blank.

The man was the spitting image of Sportacus.

 

Glanni’s higher functions kicked back into gear before Robbie’s and he elbowed him to close his mouth, and not gape like the dumbstruck fool that he was.

His brother started conversing in the same weird tongue as the man, all smiles and grace again. Robbie hung back and took a closer look at the man. The elf was older than Sportacus he could see, now that the initial shock had worn off. A supple imperial mustache in place of Sportacus’ abhorrent pencil mustache and hazel colored eyes that darted between Glanni and Robbie in good mannered curiosity.

Robbie had only met the man the briefest of moments when he was ten, but there was no mistake that this was Number Nine, Sportacus’ father.

Nine made a comical startled expression. “Americans?” he said in English with an all too familiar lilt.

Glanni switched back to English again, “yes, my brother is a friend of the groom.”

The older hero’s face lit up in the same unbridled joy that Sportacus’ did. It almost hurt too much to watch it on a face that was familiar, yet not the one he wanted to see. “My son never mentioned that he met other elves on his travels.”

“We wanted to surprise him.” Robbie flashed a practiced sheepish smile and played along. The best lies always had an element of truth to them. “Is there any possibility we could see him before the ceremony begins?”

“I’d love to tell him that he has friends, beside the local colony, attending, but,” Nine tilted his head to the church, “I’m afraid that the women are still fussing over him. Not even I can get through my wife and that torture device she calls a comb,” he chuckled.

He motioned them up the steps, “I am sure that he will be delighted afterwards. There are still vacant seats in the back row where you can sit and watch.” Nine winked, adding, “let it be a pleasant surprise for later when the festivities start.”

“Thank you, sir,” Glanni grinned and dragged Robbie away, his grip on his arm tight enough to bruise.

“Hold up a moment!” Number Nine called to them again.

Glanni turned his head slowly. “Yes?”

“We never got properly introduced, I don’t know your names.”

“Oh, sorry that’s my fault entirely,” Glanni said between clenched teeth in a skeleton grin and gestured to them both, “I’m Uffe Ulvsson and this is my brother, Ull Ulvsson.”

Nine frowned slightly. “Norwegian?”

“Close, we’re of Faroese descent.”

“Ah, that’ll explain your tall stature. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make assumptions.”

“No, no, do not worry,” Glanni said and walked backwards up the last steps, not waiting for the man to introduce himself more than being the groom’s father and pulled Robbie along with him into the cool dark of the church.

 

The interior of the stone church was dim and it took some time for Robbie’s eyes to adjust. Until then, he’d allowed Glanni to drag him behind the rows of benches in the nave of the church and forced him to literally hold a low profile. He rubbed his eyes and squeezed them shut to adjust. Then, he took in what he saw.

If Robbie ever got the chance, he was going to smack Sportacus over the head. ‘ _Not as big as human churches_ ’, yeah, right. Only if you compared it to a damn _Cathedral!_  The walls were white plastered with rich ornate paintings of flowers and sentences in what he figured as Icelandic. No religious symbols or meanings that he could recognize.

A church without a distinct God. Now that was a funny thought.

Besides candles, the main source of light was provided through the high narrow chapel windows and the round rose window in stained opaque glass that bathed the altar in a cold light. Robbie got the uncanny feeling of being under water with the milky opaque glass giving the impression of mother of pearl.

He eventually found his voice again. “That guy was Sportacus’ dad,” he announced, somewhat excited over the revelation.

No immediate answer.

Robbie didn’t like how Glanni was gripping the backboard they were hiding behind in a white knuckled grip.

 

“No,” Glanni hissed eventually, “that was _Íþr_ _ótta_ _álfurinn_.” He spat out the name like it was a curse word.

 

Oooohh crap. Number Nine and the elf that Glanni had encountered, _was one and the same_. Crap, crapity crap, _crap!_

 

“Glanni…” he inquired, “are we going to have a problem?” More precisely, was Glanni going to be a problem?

Glanni worked his jaw again and turned fully to Robbie, his face split into a wide grin and there was a manic glint in his eyes that chilled Robbie to the bone. “Are you kidding me? It must be my birthday, because this is amazing. I can’t wait to see his face when the whole affair gets called off.”

…Okay? A positive response, if somewhat unsettling. “Good, good. We still need to find Sportacus though.”

“I hear you,” Glanni said. “Chances are that he’s in one of the side chambers getting ready.” He adjusted the duffel on his shoulder.

Robbie caught a whiff of that gross aftershave that his brother had spilled last night. Urk. Glanni hadn’t done such a good job of cleaning out the duffel bag after all.

Glanni licked his lips, announcing, “okay, this is how we’re going to do this,” his eyes darted over the layout from their cover, “I’ll go ahead and scout, you’ll stay here.”

“What? Are you insane? Absolutely not.”

“Trust me.” Glanni winked and disappeared into the shadows.

And so, Robbie did.

 

Robbie felt nauseous from nerves and whatever he was coming down with. He shouldn’t be hiding there in the dark. He should be up in the front looking for Sportacus! He was just about to rise and do so, when the side door to the right of the chapel opened and he finally saw Sportacus for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

For always wearing a hat, it was ironic that Sportacus was the only one in there that didn’t have one now.

Robbie had never seen Sportacus without his blue hat before. He’d expected him to be a brunette, but the caramel highlight’s reflecting in the light revealed that, that was not entirely true. Someone had gone through the trouble to comb the thick mane of dark blond hair back and away from his face, and gel it in place, revealing a distinct Widow’s Peak and his pointy ear. His mother’s handiwork most likely. There was a shorter woman fussing and buzzing around him until the very end. Sportacus eventually managed to get a hold of her hands as she adjusted his red handkerchief and the crystal on his dark blue west for the umpteenth time. He held them in his own, smiling down at her and saying something that he couldn’t hear.

She nodded her head, the curved hat ornament bobbed with the motion and she tugged one of her hands free to stroke his cheek. Sportacus leaned his face into the contact and said something again to her. Robbie’s heart ached from witnessing the intimate act. His mother eventually allowed herself to be lead away to a seat in the front row by Íþróttaálfurinn, who only stopped to give Sportacus' shoulder a quick squeeze himself.

 

This was his chance to get to Sportacus!

 

Someone tugged him back down.

It was Glanni.

“What are you doing?” Robbie seethed in confusion and anger, “let me go!”

“New plan,” Glanni said matter of factly.

“It’s starting! Let go!”

“Shush. Yes, it is, but there is still time.”

“No there’s not,” Robbie argued and stood up to get to Sportacus. Glanni grabbed him again from behind and roughly shoved him down in a seat in the back, next to an elderly woman who gave the pair a bewildered look and scooted away from Robbie.

Robbie frowned up at Glanni. “Where’s your bag?”

“Shit, must have dropped it. Listen,” he leaned in and whispered, “when the celebrant gets to the ‘ _speak up or forever shut your trap_ ’ part, I’ll signal you and you can stop the whole thing.”

That was an idiotic idea. But, Glanni was already leaving. Where was he going?!

“What signal?” he hissed. His life was rapidly turning into one of those imbecilic soup operas he used to watch.

“You’ll know what it is.” Glanni winked, looking far too happy than the circumstances required.

 

The bride, Frída, had joined Sportacus up on the altar. No awkward marching up the isle then, she must have come from the chamber on the opposite side. Sportacus' face lit up with a smile at her and she mirrored the look.

Perhaps, maybe, this was for the better? She was pretty in her embroidered gown with her heart shaped face and button nose. They’d make a beautiful pair.

 

The rising nausea and headache got worse by the second and he found it hard to focus. Of all the horrendous misfortune Robbie had, he had to get ill _now_ of all times. He tried to spot Glanni through his haze without luck. He needed to call their plan off and accept that Robbie had failed. Glanni had to be close, for he could smell that wretched fruity odor. It was clogging up in his throat and he thought that he might throw up.

 

Through his haze and muddled head, he felt a foreign weight resting on his shoulder and he looked down.

The old woman sitting next to him had decided to take a nap. He had to agree that was a splendid idea, he could feel his own eyes drooping. The celebrants long-winded drawling in that strange language was lulling him in.

 _‘No. Snap out of it, Robbie_ ,’ he berated himself and shook his head. He could nap later. He had to stay awake, just for a little longer.

“Ma’am?” He jostled his shoulder, she didn’t wake up. “Ma’am, I’d like my shoulder back, this isn’t a resting place.”

He looked over to her company and saw that they too were fast asleep, so there was no luck on that front to get the woman off him. Sure, no one wanted to sit and listen to the never-ending droning of the celebrant, but this was ridiculous. He jostled his shoulder again in hopes of rousing her and she eventually slid off his shoulder.

Only to hit her head on the backrest in front of them with a dull thump. The impact did not faze her. She was out cold.

With a rising fear momentarily clearing his head, he looked around at the church’s guests. His row wasn’t the only one falling unconscious. In the rows further up the front, he could see heads nodding and heavy sighs from some.

The celebrant’s voice fluctuated and Robbie saw Sportacus wavering where he stood.

 

He recognized the symptoms. They were crashing.

 

And still Glanni was nowhere to be seen. Despite the smell…

Robbie realized with a start; the contents of the duffel bag wasn’t the distraction.

 

 _He_ was!

 

"Wait!" He flung himself out on the isle, he needed to warn them. It took all of his strength to stay upright, Robbie grabbed onto the backrests of the benches and stumbled towards the altar.

This did not make sense, why was he affected too? What the hell had Glanni done?!

Heads turned to look at him in shock, of those that had not yet succumbed to whatever Glanni had released in the air. Íþróttaálfurinn stood up from his seat along with another older man. The numbered hero swayed on his feet and the both men had to support each other, before they stumbled to the ground together.

 

Despite faltering himself, Sportacus pushed Frída behind him, letting his body serve as a shield and protect her from immediate harm. Always the hero.

He wanted to laugh, he wasn’t the threat here. Robbie tore off the beard and wheezed at them, “you need to get out. Now!”

 

Sportacus’ eyes widened. “Robbie?”

 

Robbie only made it two thirds up the isle before he collapsed to his knees and sunk towards the floor.

The last thing he recalled was Sportacus falling too and the sound of more than one crystal ringing in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Evil cackling*
> 
>  
> 
> Time for some linguistic info:
> 
> Icelandic grammar is a nightmare. Essentially, Íþróttaálfurinn is stating that 'he believes that he's never met them before.'
> 
>  
> 
> Uffe is a Danish and Norwegian name that means Wolf, in Swedish it's a nickname for Ulf/Ulv, that also literally means wolf. Ull isn't a real name per say, it's the Scandinavian word for Wool. So it's essentially Wolfy Wolf's son and a wordplay on Wolf in sheep's clothing... I'm hilarious...
> 
> Faroese elves are said to be tall and dark. We will get back to that nugget of info in later chapters. (I've said too much).
> 
> For those that wonder about the Icelandic National dress:  
> http://folkcostume.blogspot.se/2012/12/jobuningurinn-national-costumes-of.html?m=1
> 
> The men's outfits are somewhat similar to the ones I'm accustomed to, BUT THE WOMEN WTF???? My own outfit looks nothing like THAT!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unless he's the one giving the speech, Robbie could care less for mastermind monologues.

Robbie dreamt of black sheep in gas masks, speaking to him in German, a language that he was pretty sure he did not speak, and offered to share with him the knowledge of the secret ingredient to achieve the world’s finest swiss roll.

He never found it out, Robbie roused to consciousness with a throbbing pain behind his eyes and the feeling of being run over by a truck, that had then reversed over him again, just for good measure. He hadn’t been hung over in the past twenty-plus years, but this wasn’t too far from those experiences from his late teen years of fumbling rebellion. He groaned, instantly regretting moving even the slightest of inches since it made his brain slosh around in his head and his stomach to lurch.

 

“Good morning, sunshine,” he heard Glanni’s voice to his left and he realized that he was buckled down in the passenger seat of the hatchback.

He tried his voice, “Glanni,” it came out hoarse, like he’d been screaming, “what the fuck?”

“Oh, so you do know the f-word?”

He had another couple of well-chosen explicit words he’d like to subject Glanni to as well.

“How long…?”

Glanni snorted, “you were out of it for over three hours. I have no idea why though. The Severone is an instant incapacitating agent, but it wears off just as quickly,” he finished with a shrug, not seemingly bothered by the state of which Robbie was in.

A sedative. Why wasn’t Robbie surprised that he’d ended up drugged before even the second day of the week? If he lifted his shirt and found himself stitched up, that would only complete this disaster.

He felt bile rise in the back of his throat. His stomach was going to expel what little contents that it had. And it was going to do it now without pardon. “Pull over.”

“Not likely.”

“Pull over, or I’ll puke in your lap,” he threatened. The motion of Glanni driving on whatever backcountry road they were on was only encouraging his nausea.

“ _And we_ _’re pulling over_.”

Robbie didn’t even wait for the car to fully stop before he leaned out of the door, still wearing his seatbelt and retched onto the ground just outside.

It hurt. His stomach was empty and all that came up was bile.

“Maybe it was the orchids…” Glanni muttered after five minutes of painful full body convulsions. Robbie’s body had given up and he let himself be pulled back into the passenger seat again.

Robbie frowned. Flowers?

Before even thinking of his actions, he’d accepted the painkillers Glanni had given him and swallowed them dry. Great self-preservation instincts, Robbie. _Way to go, Champ_.

He stared at the bottle of soda he’d accepted as well. Could he risk it without throwing it all up again? The queasiness of his abused gut told him no. And he dropped it to the floor by his feet. He’d live with the foul taste in his mouth. Exhaling vomit breath in Glanni’s general direction was a speck of satisfaction, but satisfaction non-the-less.

He didn’t recognize the alien landscape from their trip north. “Where are we?” his voice was if possible even more raspy now and stung from the acid.

“There’s been a rock slide on the west coast,” Glanni tapped the muted car radio, “so, we’re taking the route north east to Akureyri Airport.”

The elves idea of a road block perhaps? He wasn’t going to voice his theory though.

Had the elves on Flatley even woken up yet from the strange concoction that had been released into the church, he wondered. He’d never timed how long Sportacus would remain in a meltdown.

“Granted, it’s a bit of a setback, but hey, what you gonna do?” Glanni said and started the car again.

Glanni was way too relaxed and unfazed in Robbie’s opinion. If anything, he looked quite pleased with himself.

Morbid curiosity, and a frantic need to fill in the blanks that had led to his predicament, had him ask Glanni, “you mentioned orchids?” Sedative and orchids? What had Glanni cooked up?

“That’s how I got the idea for my persona. _Italian_ Orchids,” he replied, “known in layman terms as _Naked Man Orchids_ , because of the shape of the pedals, but, and here comes the interesting part,” Glanni gave him a lopsided smile. There was something dark behind it, “they’re also known _as Fairy Killers_.”

_What?_

 

Glanni kept talking, more than happy to share the inner workings of his plan, “see, I did a little digging about fairies and elves. And it turns out there isn’t much that makes them croak, all I found was this old Mediterranean aphrodisiac. Along with stories of how the petals would strangle and kill fairies that were lured in by the aroma.”

“You released a poison in the church?” Robbie wanted to scream in white hot rage, instead he leaned his head against the cool glass of the door window and glared a hole in the side of Glanni’s head. He needed to reserve what little energy he had and recover.

“It’s not poisonous,” Glanni defended, “I tried it out on myself first, to see if it really was an aphrodisiac. I felt a small pleasant buzz.”

Like that would make it a failsafe assurance, Robbie wanted to argue.

“Then of course, you handed me the secret to their greatest weakness on a hotdamn silver platter!” he laughed with glee.

Robbie grimaced. He had. He’d handed it all over.

“Björn, that numbskull, thought I was making a bomb with all the synthesised glucose I had him acquire for me. Moron, you use fertilizer for that combo. Although, a sugar bomb would be an interesting future project.”

Would Glanni ever shut up? Björn… That had to be the _Enforcers_ _‘R_ _’ Us_ poster boy that Glanni met up with in Reykjavik. _That_ _’_ s what was in the white bag. _Pure liquified sugar_! He must have turned it into gas form in the hotel and concocted the knock-out gas, blaming the fumes on aftershave.

He had never thought that he would be on the receiving end of an outdrawn evil-masterplan speech, but here Robbie was, listening to Glanni happily chattering on and on with self-satisfaction.

It was annoying.

“I kept the orchid as an ingredient, because why not? It appeared to produce some mental impairment and it was a waste to not use it after I had gone through the hassle of attaining the pedals and smuggling them into the country.” That manic glint Robbie had caught in Glanni’s eyes earlier was back. “The Sevorane worked as a preparatory sedating agent, allowing the elves to soften and breathe in the glucose and orchid extract that much easier. I guess your prolonged exposure did you in as well. You always were feeble.”

 

That _snake_.

 

“You promised,” he said weakly. It sounded pathetic even to him.

“I did,” Glanni chuckled, “on my honor.”

Robbie was such a _massive idiot!_  “…You don’t have any honor.”

“Ring a ding, we have a winner,” he said in a sing-song voice and laughed.

The man was insane, he realized. How had he not seen it? This had been Glanni’s endgame all along. Robbie had sought help, but instead he had released a starved fox into the henhouse. He’d handed him the keys and told him to gorge himself to his heart’s content.

He thought back to their interactions these past days and regretted bitterly that he hadn’t thrown up in Glanni’s lap after he’d woken up.

 

 

_‘You need me.’_

_‘I_ ' _m the only one that can help you._ _’_

_‘You wouldn't want_ _anything bad to happen to me, would you.’_

_‘I_ ' _m doing this for you, Robbie._ _’_

_‘Trust me, I got you covered.’_

 

 

_‘I trust Glanni.’_

 

 

 

If Robbie had had the strength, he would had introduce Glanni’s ugly mug to the underside of his shoes and kick that smug look off his face. Given enough time to recover, he’d do so.

Screw magic, Glanni had used good old fashioned emotional manipulation. And Robbie, that gullible moron, had taken the bait hook line and sinker! All too happily swallowing down Glanni’s faked smiles, assurances and pretence of caring about him, when he actually was looking for information on the elves.

Robbie had unwittingly allowed himself to become indoctrinated and turn into Glanni’s pawn in his sick game.

 

Glanni appeared to be having the time of his life, basking in the horror on Robbie’s face.

“Oh, cheer up, lil’ brother. No one got hurt. Not seriously at least. Well, no one except Íþróttaálfurinn, I mean. I managed to get in a few punches on that puffed-up sports elf. I must really thank you for that. It was a pleasant bonus.”

He retorted in disgust, “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Actually, that reminds me of something.” he hummed, “take a look in the back, would you?”

Not liking where this was going, few things could make this situation worse, Robbie dared himself to turn his body and peer over his shoulder.

 

Robbie shrieked and jerked back, hitting the back of his head against the side window.

A small piteous whimper from the back of the car came in response to the ear-splitting noise he’d made. Robbie sat frozen in place in his seat, this time in true horror and refused to do a double take of what he’d seen in the backseat.

“Glanni, who else is in the car?” He already knew the answer, but he was hoping that this was some sort of hellish hallucination, or nightmare and that he was still unconscious from Glanni’s knock-out gas.

No such luck.

“I brought your boyfriend with us.”

 

Robbie gathered up the courage to look in the backseat again. There was a Sportacus shaped lump laid in a fetal position underneath Robbie’s plum coat.

“Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

“Glanni,” Robbie said between clenched teeth, “I. Will. End. You.”

“You’re so ungrateful. You know, I could just have left you on that cold stone floor to fend for yourself.”

Robbie wished that he had. He wanted to be as far away from this unhinged sociopath, that he’d been foolish enough to call brother, as physically possible.

Sportacus whimpered again in his sleep.

With shaking hands, Robbie unbuckled his seatbelt and reached back to tug on the coat enough to reveal the unconscious man’s face. He was pale, the fine dusting of freckles that you barely could tell were there normally, were sticking out in stark contrast to the sickly white washed hue of Sportacus skin. He tucked him back in under the coat up to his nose to fend him from the chill, Sportacus snuggled into the coat again and shivered. The gel, or whatever that had been used to tame Sportacus’ hair, had started to come undone and the locks of caramel blond stuck out in an unruly mess. He carded his hand through the curls and away from his face. Sportacus looked so small. Not anything like the man Robbie knew could bench press a minivan if he so wished.

“He looks ill.” Sportacus had never looked this bad when Robbie had put him out of commission back in LazyTown.

“Yeah, about that,” Glanni said. “I had to give him a second more concentrated doze while on the ferry back to the mainland. You’re right, his eyes really are that blue.”

 

Scratch ending Glanni, he was going to _destroy_ him.

 

Robbie turned to Glanni. “You did _what_?”

“He woke up. I don’t know if it’s because he’s a sports elf, or if the first dose wasn’t strong enough. It sure affected you far longer than expected.” Glanni was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, “I had to make a slight change in my plans when you admitted that you liked the elf, so I figured that I could let you two have a chat when he wakes up again. You wanted to stop the wedding, I stopped the wedding. I’d say this is a good outcome for the both of us.”

If this was Glanni’s idea of making amends, he could shove it where the sun didn’t shine.

It was amazing what fury and enmity could do to your recuperation time. He seethed, “and putting him in a deeper _sugar induced coma_ would make up for it!?”

“Call me petty, but further ruining Íþróttaálfurinn’s day by his son going missing, was too good to pass up.”

And there he had it why Sportacus really was in the car with them.

“Hmm,” Glanni pursed his lips then smiled, “ _SIC_ … I like the sound of that, thanks for the tip.”

“Sick?”

“SIC; Sugar Induced Coma.”

Well, Robbie was glad _one of them_ was having a good time, because he sure wasn’t.

Robbie put his seatbelt back on, there wasn’t much else he could do until Sportacus woke up. He leaned back onto his side and rested his gaze upon the sleeping figure with a sigh.

How was he supposed to explain this catastrophe to the man?

 

This wasn’t what he’d wanted.

 

“You’re creepy, looking at people while they sleep.”

“Shut up, Glanni.”

 

 

Robbie couldn’t blame Sportacus for what he did when he woke up.

Had their places been reversed, he’d done the same thing. Just, less successfully than Sportacus.

 

He thought that he’d caught a glimpse of cobalt blue, it must have been his imagination he told himself. The next thing he knew, Sportacus had opened the door by his head, tucked and rolled out of the moving car. It happened so fast Robbie just barely registered what had transpired.

Glanni swore loudly and swerved, standing on the breaks and skidding into a halt. Robbie seized the moment to unbuckle and scrambled out of the car to run on unsteady legs up to where Sportacus was lying, before he recovered from the impact and inertia.

“Sportacus!” He stumbled to a stop at the man’s feet.

“Sportacus,” he repeated in a soothing voice and reached his hand out in what he hoped was a sign of unanimity, “it’s okay, it’s me. It’s alright.”

 

Sportacus did something Robbie had never imagined would happen.

He jerked back from Robbie, his eyes impossibly wide. There was naked fear in them. 

The man scrambled away from him until he was at the edge of the road side. Still staring up at him with awe, chest heaving and his hands clenching and unclenching in the gravel, as akin to a cornered wild animal desperately looking for an out.

 

Something inside Robbie broke.

 

Sportacus' eyes frantically darted between Robbie and the car where Glanni still was, back to stare at Robbie, who stood frozen in place and with his hand still outreached.

His voice was cracked when he finally spoke, “Robbie? _What have you done?_ ”

 

Good question. What had he done?

 

“I messed up,” he said truthfully, “I messed up big time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to stop ending the chapters like this, but I've been planning for this chapter for quite some time.  
> I'm looking extra forward for the upcoming one :D


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sportacus is not a happy camper. Robbie has an emotional breakdown. And Glanni... Glanni should be pushed down an Ætternisstapi.

“Do you think he’s angry?”

“No, he likes pacing along the river banks and- Of course he’s angry, you inconsiderate nutcase!”

 

Sportacus’ recuperation had gone along the same stages as Robbie’s. But, at a much more accelerated pace. Part of him was jealous, but his self-hatred that made up a major part of himself right now was satisfied that Sportacus was up and about, while he himself had to lean against the car.

Shock, followed by nausea, he never wanted to see Sportacus toss his breakfast again. And then, white-hot blinding fury. The fear from earlier in his eyes had been replaced by piercing ire.

He’d then stumbled towards a body of water down by the opposite side of the road. Robbie had tried to help him, but the fury in his eyes when theirs met had Robbie halt up, more effectively than a blow would, and he let Sportacus stagger past him.

Right now, Robbie was watching him from a safe distance by the car. Ignoring Glanni’s presence next to him, who was smoking on a cigarette and completely unfazed.

Glanni took another drag and shrugged.

Parallel to the country road, ran a stream that had grown and accumulated into a lake the further east Glanni had taken them. Sportacus had squatted by the bank and washed his face and drunk greedily from the clean water. Robbie had thought of following, but then he’d started to chuck stones the size of his fists out into the water.

Well, someone was channelling their anger in an unhealthy manner. Robbie knew with a sinking feeling that it was originally directed at him.

 

Who could blame him?

 

He resisted every fundamental instinct of self-preservation screaming at him to run for the hills and approached the furious elf. Glanni didn’t stop him and he preferred it that way.

“Hey,” he tried.

Sportacus threw him one quick glance. Alarm bells went off in Robbie's head that he should really, _really_ reconsider his actions, if he wanted to live long enough to see another day. The other man’s frame was tense and Robbie could feel the tempest raging underneath the demeanor, ready to be unleashed if Robbie so even breathed another word.

“How are you holding up?”

Sportacus pointedly ignored him and picked up another rock.

Robbie was tired, he was so tired of everything. They needed to talk, and they needed to talk _now_. Even if it would cost him everything.

“No, you know what? You will have to listen to me!” he raised his voice and put more strain on his already raw throat. “You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a friend and if you think for even one second that I would let you throw your happiness away by an arranged marriage _in the beginning of the twenty-first century_ , just to please others, then you are dead wrong!” Everyone was a hypocrite, _even Sportacus_ , and Robbie was the wretched king of it all. His words kept tumbling out, ignited by days of stress and anger, “you don’t owe the world jack squat worth doing that, and for what? Some sense of obligation? I have never owed the world anything whatsoever and I suggest that you’d do the same. Make your own choices! You… You self-sacrificing idiot!”

The man still wasn’t looking at him. “You took any choice away from me, how are you any better?” Sportacus spat. At least he was talking again.

“I panicked and there was too much at stake to think things through. I didn’t plan for this, I wanted to talk to you _before_ the wedding.”

Whatever Robbie had said, it was the wrong thing. Sportacus snarled and threw the stone out over the lake and it disappeared out of sight. Robbie had finally pushed the man over the edge. He whirled around towards Robbie and stalked up to him.

It was short of a miracle that Robbie didn’t run.

“You and your _deals_ , and your _stakes_ , and _bets,_ and _gambles!_ ” His pupils were blown wide and his cobalt blue irises were now rings of almost dark indigo. “You go on your wagers, not caring who gets caught in the crossfire! Your actions have serious consequences, someone could have died this time!” Robbie was expecting it to come to blows any second now, that’s what he deserved wasn’t it.

Robbie wouldn’t have held back and he sure wasn’t now. He screamed in Sportacus' face, feeling the hot sting of tears threatening to spill, “well, excuse me for not having your high and mighty moral grounds!” Oh, great, he was full out crying now. “I did what _I_ thought was right! So, hate me, I don’t give a damn anymore!”

“I thought you were my friend,” Sportacus said lower. Somehow, three simple words punched the last remaining air out of Robbie. “ _I trusted you_.”

 

They stood feet apart, but it might as well have been continents. Both of them breathing heavily in eerie silence, staring at each other. This was it, wasn’t it? This was how it ended.

He rasped out, “for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. But, I would do it again.” He might as well burn all his bridges. “Even if you marry her, at least I gave you time to think it over.”

 

Without looking back, he returned to the car on wobbly legs. He could feel Sportacus' gaze burning a hole in the back of his head.

They’d never be friends. Robbie had made sure of that. They would forever and always be at odds with each other, and he’d have to live with it.

 

“Very impressive. I’d give that speech an eight out of ten on the emotional factor.”

“I thought I told you to shut up,” he growled and shoved Glanni out of his way.

Robbie not as much sat as he fell down inside the car in the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut.

 

Idiot, idiot,  _idiot!_  What had he expected would happen? That Sportacus would bounce right back all smiles and rainbows? Laughable!

His hands clenched around the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip and he screwed his eyes shut.

And screamed through broken sobs.

He didn’t care if Glanni saw him break down. Let that sadistic bastard enjoy the show, he’d sure earned it, of how utterly stupid and naïve Robbie had been. He never should have trusted Glanni, he never should have left LazyTown. Robbie should have let Sportacus go. What had he to offer Sportacus? Absolutely nothing, and now he had gone and ruined everything! Stupid, stupid, stupid Robbie! He hit the side of his temple once, twice and cried. The pain barely registering.

His whole frame shook and he propped his head against the steering wheel as he wept. This was what he deserved.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. His tears had since long ago run dry and all he had left was this pain in his chest where his lungs and heart used to be.

The sound of a door opening and the shift of weight distribution roused him from his pity party. He didn’t have the remaining strength to raise his head. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself, Glanni. You’ve won, now kindly go to hell,” he croaked.

“Robbie.”

 

Oh, oh no.

 

“Sport…” He straightened up and looked in the rear-view mirror. Sportacus sat in the backseat right behind him. Looking back at him in the reflection. His eyes were a little red rimmed around the edges he saw, before he ducked out of view behind him.

Robbie was about to say his name, but Sportacus spoke before him, “we need to find a phone.” His voice was low, straightforward.

He nodded dumbly. “I… Yes, of course. I underst-”

“No, you don’t understand,” he interrupted him, “you didn’t just put people’s lives at risk and abduct the groom. You abducted a _numbered hero_. My people, other elves and allied, will be hunting for you.”

Right, there was that too. The road block. There was only a matter of time before they’d be swarmed with, righteously so, angry people when they figured they weren’t heading south. It was a wonder that it hadn’t already happened.

“They need to know that I’m alright.”

Robbie swallowed and nodded. He could do that. He could take Sportacus to the closest petrol station and let him finally go, to disappear out of his life for good.

 

A moment of silence between them. He leaned his head back against the headrest, “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know, Robbie _. I know_.” Robbie felt Sportacus’ hand grasp his shoulder and he let out a dry sob.

There was a thump and he could feel hot breath on his neck as Sportacus spoke, “I don’t hate you, Robbie.” The other man was resting his forehead on the backside of the headrest. “I can’t,” there was a waver in his voice. Robbie tentatively brought his hand up to Sportacus’ and, to his surprise, the other intertwined their fingers, rather than drawing back.

 

The calm couldn’t last forever though and he reluctantly pulled back. “So, you’ve met the awful man I’m unfortunately related to.”

“You mean Glanni Glæpur.” That was not a question.

“You know who he is?”

“There are mugshots of him. He was _very_ _productive_ during his time here in Iceland," a sigh, "I should have made the connection earlier.”

Ah, that explained it.

“Why did you call him Glen?”

“Extremely misplaced trust and family loyalty. One I won’t repeat, ever again.”

“Do you know what he did?”

“No.” He should have dug deeper, but now, he wasn’t so sure if he wanted to know. He’d just assume that it was something Bad, with a capital B.

Sportacus hummed. What he said next had Robbie protesting however. “We need to bring him with us.”

“I’m going to have to go with, _hell no_ to that. And,  _why?_ ”

“My crystal is missing.”

Robbie blinked. It was? He hadn't thought to check.

 

A third voice joined them in a mocking tone that made Robbie want to punch its owner’s teeth in, if he knew how to fight, “exactly and I’m the only who knows where it is.”

“Glanni,” he growled.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Were you two having an intimate moment?”

“Buzz off.”

“Nope,” Glanni replied cheerily and plopped down in the passenger seat. He dangled the car keys in front of Robbie. “You let me go scot-free, with the car, and I’ll tell you were that noisy stone is.”

Robbie reached for the keys, but Glanni pulled them away with an ‘ _Ah a ah_ ’ in a sing-song voice.

Sportacus snapped something in Icelandic and snatched them lightning quick out of Glanni’s grasp.

The bastard had the audacity to look pleased and laughed at whatever Sportacus had said.

Robbie wondered where Glanni drew the line as scot-free, or if he could get away with pushing him over a cliff along with the car. If Sportacus would let him. Something told him, no, no he wouldn’t. Pity that.

 

Sportacus had removed the handkerchief around his neck and tied it in a head-wrap like a bandana to conceal his ears. Red wasn’t his color, but Robbie thought better of saying it.

The poor cashier, a youth barely older than eighteen and with a severe case of acne on his face, stared at the odd trio of people that had stepped inside the petrol station. Between Sportacus’ traditional folkwear, Robbie looking like death warmed over and Glanni, well, being Glanni, he supposed, they looked spectacular and not in a positive sense.

Sportacus approached the kid and spoke to him in their native tongue. The youth seemed to hesitate at what Sportacus was saying, the man said something again, with what Robbie could make out as pleading. The kid nodded and handed over a cordless phone from behind the register desk.

He was trying to wrap his head around that he was seeing Sportacus with an actual phone in his hand. He had explained during the drive that there was a landline reserved for emergencies such as these. Robbie began to collect fruits to buy while he waited.

The kid picked on quickly that Robbie was English speaking and said something to him. He was too engulfed in watching Sportacus talk in rapid-fire over the phone and didn’t hear the question the first time. “Huh?” He tore his eyes off Sportacus and looked back at the young cashier.

“Bachelor party?”

“Something like that,” he said gruffly. If the kid thought that they were hungover, then that was fine with him.

“That must have been one hell of a party.”

He let out a low mirthless laugh at that, “kid, you have no idea.”

He took the bag and continued to watch Sportacus. He’d never heard him talk this hurriedly and lively. He was always so soft spoken and tried to choose his words with care. He’d always thought that it was part of his personality, but it had probably more so to do with English not being his first language. There was a break in the stream of words. Some kind of loud objection on Sportacus’ part, then followed by a longer pause.

“If you’re wondering, he hasn’t sold us out yet,” Glanni said next to Robbie. He ignored him.

An outcry was heard from Sportacus and he looked up at them, the ire in his eyes was back. Robbie physically flinched, this wasn’t good. He then realized that he wasn’t the receiving party of that look, when Sportacus' eyes followed Glanni, who ducked away outside with an ‘ _Oups_ ’.

Sportacus ended the phone call and handed it back to the cashier, thanking him, Robbie assumed.

“Is something wrong?”

Sportacus led him away, closer to the exit and further away from the cashier, who did an awful job of pretending to be casual and certainly not trying to listen in on them. “He hurt my father.”

Crap. Glanni had said something about getting in a few punches on Íþróttaálfurinn. “Is he alright?”

Sportacus didn’t answer him, but stared outside the glass doors and bit his lip, after a while he said, “I think so, but they’ve sent someone to get us.”

“Us?” Robbie had come to accept that they would go their separate ways after this. It hurt, but it was for the better, even if Sportacus claimed that he didn’t hate Robbie. Not that Robbie didn’t have enough hatred for himself right now to go around for the both of them.

“Yes, they’re very _eager to meet you_.” Sportacus looked disturbed, he spoke again before Robbie could ask. “They think that it was a revenge act targeting my father, which I guess is the closest to the truth. But,” he grimaced, “some think otherwise,” and trailed off.

Robbie waited and shot the cashier a dirty look when he caught him trying to eavesdrop.

Not meeting his gaze and seeming flustered, he continued, “those that saw you are convinced that you’re a jilted lover of mine.” Sportacus looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, Robbie felt the same to be honest.

“Oh.”

“…Yeah.”

“Should… Should I be worried?”

Sportacus stared at his feet. “I have no idea.”

 

Robbie remembered his purchase and, more than willing to change the subject, he hefted the bag to Sportacus.

“Here,” he extended the bag of fruits he’d bought him.

Sportacus took the offered plastic bag and peered inside at the contents, then looked back up at Robbie. “Sportscandy?” he asked, a bit taken aback.

The familiar term that Sportacus used for his vegetables and fruits almost brought a smile to Robbie’s face. Almost. “Yes, I’m surprised that you’ve recovered almost completely, but you probably need this yucky stuff.” Sportacus even looked better than Robbie did.

Sportacus fished up a pear out of the bag. He brought it close to his face, then hesitated.

Robbie winced inwardly, of course Sportacus wouldn’t trust Robbie, or anything he’d offer him, ever again.

Not after all this.

 

“I’m never again going to trick you into a meltdown,” he took a few steps away towards the exit, out of the other man’s reach, not sure himself what he was hoping for. Robbie then added softly, “I promise on my life.”

 

There was the sensation of a lock being put in place. That’s the closest way he could describe the feeling in his head. He hadn’t actually thought something would happen. Not that it changed anything in the end, really.

Sportacus gaped at him. “Why?” he breathed out. He must have felt it too.

“Because I meant it.” Robbie shrugged and began walking.

A strong grip on his wrist forced him around to face Sportacus. There was anger on his face again. “Robbie, you can’t,” he hissed. The bag dropped and forgotten on the floor.

“I just did. It is done.”

Sportacus let him go. His face in a pinched expression and his mouth a thin line. Just because he’d said that he didn’t hate him, it didn’t mean that he’d ever trust him again. Or, like him. Not the way that Robbie did anyway. This was the least he could do.

 

Robbie walked outside and stopped dead in his tracks. “That was quicker than expected,” he said.

 

Anything bad he’d ever said or thought about Sportacus’ hat, he was going to take back. _That_ had to be the ugliest, stupidest hat he’d ever seen an elf wear. It was orange and covered in green polka dots and… Was that a _bell_ sown on to the end of the tail cap?

How did he know the wearer was an elf?

He was dangling Glanni by his ear. An impressive feat, considering that the elf was more than one head shorter than Glanni and looked quite elderly.

Robbie wasn’t going to lie. He very much enjoyed watching Glanni yowl in pain and plead for the old man to release him.

 

“ _Frændi_ _Íþró!_ ” Sportacus cried out and joined Robbie outside.

“ _Str_ _ákur!_ ” The old man lowered Glanni, to Robbie’s mild disappointment, and approached them.

“Robbie, this is my uncle. The former Number Ten.”

 _‘Yikes_ _’_ , Robbie thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember Uncle Íþró? :D


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One-Man Cavalry has arrived. And he's not impressed.

The cashier, when beckoned outside by curiosity to find out what the commotion was all about, had taken a quick look at the grown man held in an ear twist by the odd-looking geezer, and promptly adopted an expression of ‘ _Nope, not my problem_ ’. And backed inside with both his hands raised.

Wise kid. Robbie wished he was as much, but it was kind of hard to get out when you were already in the central point of this farce.

If Robbie was asked to describe the old man, he’d probably go with ‘ _Grandpa got jacked’_. Frankly, it was unfair. The way Robbie’s own physique was, proudly so, deteriorating, he’d be lucky the get out of his chair by his sixties. It was already a struggle. Clad in an attire that should be reported to the fashion police, blue shirt tucked inside green pants with a comically broad belt, the elder’s body type was similar to Sportacus’ and Íþróttaálfurinn’s. But, age and gravity had him a few inches shorter and a freckled face with deep set laugh lines behind a greying beard, and crow’s feet framing attentive hazel eyes.

The approaching elf led Glanni behind him by the ear, paying little to no mind to the snivelling complaints. Robbie instinctively stepped behind Sportacus, he didn’t know what the geezer’s intentions were towards him, and he’d rather have something between himself and possible bodily harm.

“Frændi, it’s good to see you,” Sportacus greeted him.

His uncle’s brows raised at him, he said something to Sportacus, who gave an affirmative nod.

“I’m fine. This here is Robbie Rotten, a friend. He’s maybe not a completely innocent one, but just as much a victim.”

Robbie squeaked and ducked. Wait, what? _Friend?!_ Sportacus was still considering them…Friends?

The man spoke with a thick accent, “Robbie Rotten?” his moustache and goatee twitching. He cast Sportacus a quick questioning look before Robbie found himself one-hundred percent on the receiving end of the scrutinizing gaze. “I’ve heard of you.” Nothing good probably. “The name’s Íþróttaálfurinn, but most call me Íþró,” his eyes crinkled at their corners at that last part.

“I... Uhm... Pleasure to meet you?” he stuttered. So, he was not in for a pounding, that was a pleasant turn of events. “Wait?” Robbie frowned and grabbed onto Sportacus’ shoulder and upper arm for leverage. “Íþróttaálfurinn? I thought that was Number Nine?”

“Exactly!” Glanni made his presence reminded.

The man, called Íþró, huffed, “two persons can’t have the same name?”

Yeah, okay, that did make sense. Sports elves named _The_ _Sports Elf_ was odd, but Robbie had no place to judge. He deemed it safe enough to abandon his man-sized shield completely.

Sportacus didn’t look entirely pleased however. “I’m really glad you’re here, but I have to ask. When did you come?” Sportacus pursed his lips, adding, “your arrival was… Rather timely.”

That was a pretty good question, actually. Sportacus had made that call only a few minutes ago and the cavalry had already arrived… If one lone elderly elf counted as a one-man army. It was too convenient.

“I’ve been shadowing you for the past fifty kilometres,” the greying man said. He nodded his head in the direction of where they’d come from, his beard and moustache gleamed in strands of copper and gold. He must have been ginger when he was younger.

“That long?” Sportacus’ eyebrows raised to disappear under the head-wrap and his eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Why didn’t you intervene earlier?”

“I was about to, but decided to observe for a little longer when you had your screaming match. And I thought I taught you better than to throw yourself out of a moving vehicle in that form. You’re lucky you didn’t break your wrists.”

Normally, Robbie would jump on the opportunity of watching Sportacus getting berated by his elders, but his mind had already latched onto the first sentence.

So had Sportacus. “You heard that?”

“Strákur,” he deadpanned, “everyone in Norðurland vestra did.” His eyes softened and he said something in that infuriating language that Robbie wished he could at least somewhat comprehend.

Sportacus’ moustache twitched and said something back even softer. His uncle only sighed in reply, but nodded.

The curiosity was killing Robbie, but he had a feeling this conversation was not meant for him and he wasn’t brave enough to push it to find out.

Glanni seemed to know what it was about and leered, which only earned him a tug on his ear and another high-pitched yowl.

“Íþró, I think that’s enough _._ ”

Robbie snorted, “no, that’s not even close to what he deserves.” Sportacus might be quick to take pity, but he himself wasn’t.

Sportacus mumbled his name in a warning tone.

This earned them an arched thin eyebrow in mild curiosity at their interactions. “I spotted this scoundrel trying to make a run for it with the car,” and shook Glanni for extra emphasis, getting a high-pitched ‘ _Gnyyl_ ’ from the con man.

Why wasn’t Robbie surprised?

Sportacus frowned at Glanni in displeasure. Robbie should tell him that he was wasting the disappointed look on him.

Alas, Íþró let go off Glanni’s ear.

Glanni doubled over and cradled the side of his head, spitting obscenities. The criminal glared up with bloodshot eyes that promised retribution. The elder looked almost amused at the pathetic display, but wiggled a finger in warning at him to stay put, or else. Glanni was smart enough to heed the silent warning.

“I had a feeling you would be heading east, despite what most thought, going back to Reykjavik would have been too convenient.”

“Wait,” Sportacus said, “you’re not the only one they sent?”

“Oh, no, several of us in fact,” he chuckled. “Number Eight was sent to intercept you if you were silly enough to attempt taking the Hringvegur back to Reykjavik. I volunteered to take it towards Akureyri. Number Six was already in Suðurland and patrolling up towards Hofsjökull by air. Number Four and Five had the same suspicions as me, and flew over to Austurland.” He scratched his beard as he continued, “not to mention the Queen’s Court and Human authorities were on high alert. If you ask me, Strákur, you’re lucky that it was me that found you.”

Both Sportacus and Robbie nodded dumbly at that.

“How did you follow us?” Robbie asked. “You know, just curious.”

Íþró gave him a lopsided smile and gestured towards a small vehicle behind him.

Robbie was staring at Íþró’s means of transport. At first glance, it looked like a flatbed moped. But, no, it was some sort of bike. The old man had been stalking them _on a bike_ for the past hour or so, what else was new? Elves. Just, ugh, elves.

 

The elder walked over to the bike and picked up a bundle from the flatbed. “I brought one of your spare uniform for you,” he said and tossed the bundle of clothes to Sportacus, who caught it.

“Thank you.”

 

Sportacus made quick work of changing back into the spare assemble. Robbie had caught a brief glance of his exposed naked torso and had looked away just as quickly, partly because he didn’t want to be that sort of creep, partly because Íþró was glaring at him for it when he caught him. Glanni didn’t have the same restraint and made a disappointed noise when Sportacus had ducked behind the car to change into his pants. Despite being neck deep in alligators, unfortunately only a figure of speech, Glanni was an irredeemable sleaze.

Seeing Sportacus in his uniform gave him a comforting sense of normality. However, he did mourn the loss of the man’s unruly locks that were now tucked in with his ears under the blue hat.

The image would have been complete if not for the absence of his crystal, the compartment in the centre of his chest gaped empty. Sportacus seemed to feel the same and he absently thumbed the outline of the slot.

“My crystal,” he said, “it’s gone, Frændi.” How were they to explain that the crystal was missing?

Robbie shot Glanni a stink eye. Glanni only grinned back.

 

A chuckle in reply, “yes, well we couldn’t bring it, not until we knew where you were.”

Glanni froze, save for a twitch in his brow.

“It’s being kept safe back with your family,” the old man continued, oblivious to the implications.

 

Glanni had lied about the crystal. He’d probably left it in the church due to the noise. Robbie felt like smacking himself.

Of course Glanni didn’t have it, or cleverly hid it. It was nothing but yet another of his ploys to get the upper hand, until he could ditch them.

Sportacus had turned to Glanni with a look of resolution, but also vindication.

The nervous smile on Glanni’s face when it dawned on him just how bad his position was, was priceless.

 

Glanni's leverage on them was gone. Finito. Zilt. Nada. Robbie could go on forever.

“What are we to do with him?” Íþró asked them.

“Eeeh.” Robbie shrugged, he’d be happy to let him disappear like a bad memory. Forever.

“I was to go scot-free,” Glanni flailed his long spindly limbs, “we had a deal!”

“No,” Robbie jabbed a thumb in Sportacus’ direction, “you had one with him. I didn’t agree to anything.”

Sportacus crossed his arms, saying, “and you didn’t know where the crystal was,” his moustache twitched with the smallest of smirks, “I’d say that the deal has been annulled.”

 

If he could, Robbie would bottle the feeling of seeing Sportacus back to himself. A healthy flush to his cheeks after his revolting sportscandy, strong, confident. Glanni was barking up the wrong tree if he was looking for an easy way out.

 

Realizing so too, he turned back to him, “Robbie,” Glanni pleaded, reaching for him. He flinched away from the reaching hands and stared down in disgust as Glanni knelt before him and clutched the front of his suit pants. “Don’t let them do this to me. _We’re family_. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” His eyes were spilling with big fat tears. The perfect image of miserable.

“Don’t,” he tore himself free, “touch me.”

Frightening so, a switch flicked and Glanni’s bereft face changed into a mask of malice, void of any humanity. “Is that so,” his voice dripping with venom. Fluidly he stood up, his crocodile tears already gone, like they’d never been there. “You’ll willingly throw me, your own blood, under the bus?” the words felt like ice in his veins.

 

What monster was it that Robbie had embraced?

 

Sportacus grasped Robbie’s arm, nudging him behind, he willingly let himself be sheltered. “You came with the intent to cause _my family_ harm and you used _your own_ as a means to an end.” Robbie was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of the harsh tone. “Don’t you dare.”

Glanni grimaced and leaned his back against the car and sulked, “So what are you going to do with me?” he taunted. “Lock me up and throw away the key?”

A very intriguing proposition.

 

Alas, once again, Íþró had other ideas.

 

“The Court and the community is more interested in the gas,” he said. “Despite this sad excuse of a man’s attempts of immobilising Number Nine, he only suffered minor inflictions.”

“Pabbi, is alright?” A tension in Sportacus’ body seemed to melt away, even Robbie admitted to releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Your father is made of tougher stuff than what this weakling could dish out. He wanted to join the search, but he has his hands full with damage control. Also, your mother and grandmother wouldn’t let him,” he laughed under his breath.

If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “So,” Glanni licked his lips, his eyes darting between them, “I am free to go?”

Robbie wanted to say no, but the old man spoke before him. “We’re willing to let you leave. How far you’ll actually make it from here, however,” Íþró smiled, it was pointed and it promised no compassion. “is entirely up to you. I wouldn’t waste much time.”

“The compound in exchange for my freedom? That’s reasonable enough. Let me just…”

“No, you stay there and get comfy.” Robbie didn’t trust Glanni to try anything funny, that’s what _he_ would have done after all.

He opened the door to the back of the car and started looking for, -ah, yes there it was. Robbie unzipped the duffel bag and emptied its contents on the asphalt of the parking lot. A big rubbery object fell out and bounced to Robbie’s feet. The gas mask in butyl rubber was staring up at him with its dark empty visors. That would explain the weird dreams from earlier. Robbie felt light headed at the sight and kicked it away.

“Hey, be careful with that stuff!” Glanni protested.

He scoffed, “oh boohoo.” Robbie crouched down and sifted through the pile of wallets, jewellery, watches… That was _his_ pocket watch! Robbie had been wondering why he still had his wallet on him. He’d have to block his card, though. Just to be on the safe side. He opened a small black bag, it was brimming with archaic silver broches, he handed it over to Sportacus to take a look at. An unmarked canister caught his interest and he gingerly picked it up. This had to be it. He took another plastic bag to put the canister in and sealed it tight.

He was about to stand up when his eyes were drawn to an envelope in faded newspaper and bent down again for closer inspection. He had expected to find more contraband inside, but when he opened it, it revealed a clear zip-lock bag with blue flower pedals within that had started to wither and wrinkle. The pedals did somewhat remind him of humanoid in shape. Robbie caught the faintest of traces of that awful smell that had plagued him for days, one that he’d started to associate with nausea and migraine. The reaction was instant and he shoved it back inside the envelope with a guttural growl and handed that as well to the elves along with the canister.

The drop of his blood pressure sneaked upon him as he stood up and Robbie had to lean against the frame to the flatbed of the bike for support, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Sportacus cast him a worrying look but Robbie just shook his head. He was fine. Would be eventually. When he’d stop feeling queasy and the thought of food of any kind didn’t make him nauseous.

 

Glanni flicked dust of his black outfit, drawling, “now that that’s been taken care of, I’ll just take my things and leave. “

“Not so fast,” Sportacus said and put one hand up. “This here, is a lot of things that I don’t think belongs to you.”

“You can’t be serious, you already have what you wanted!” Glanni glared them daggers.

“Tough.”

“I get the car,” Glanni seethed.

“Works for me,” Íþró replied, “we’re taking my bike either way.”

“Excuse me? But that’s my car, well, rental, but still!” Robbie objected.

 

To absolutely no one’s surprise, they didn’t listen to Robbie.

“Oh yeah, sure,” he groused, “give the dangerous mad man a means of transport, don’t mind me.” Robbie did one last quick sweep of the car, looking for other belongings of his that had fallen into Glanni’s possession.

“That’s the very least you could do for me,” Glanni scoffed. Aggravating right until the end it would seem. “You can spare one measly car, Mr. Rich Pants.”

So much for keeping his economic status hidden from Glanni.

“After all,” he turned the ignition, “I saw your debit card,” Glanni hissed at him, “don’t think for a second that I-”

Being fed up and not in the mood for another monologue, of how he’d have to watch his back or Glanni would descend upon him like a deranged bird of prey, he cut him off, “yes, yes, I’ll have to sleep with an eye open for the rest of my life.” Jokes on him, he was a raging insomniac and a paranoid one at that, Robbie didn’t sleep, try as he might.

“Oh, well then,” Glanni leered. “Hey, Fairy boy! Yes, you!” He shouted something to Sportacus and turned back to Robbie with a smug smile. “Have fun with that.”

Robbie looked over at Sportacus, who frowned slightly at them, whatever Glanni had said it was unimportant anyway. He leaned in through the door again and glared at the con man. “I don’t ever want to see you again,” he growled.

“You’re starting to sound like mom.”

“Begone!” Robbie slammed the door shut and let Glanni drive out of the parking lot.

Both Íþró and Sportacus threw him strange looks as Robbie succumbed to a fit of giggles when the hatchback died on Glanni in reverse mode and he heard a muffled scream of rage from inside.

 

“I still don’t think we should have let him go,” Sportacus said as the vehicle disappeared out of sight.

The old man laughed and heaved Robbie’s suitcases up on the flatbed, “he’s the humans’ problem now. Their authorities know of his whereabouts, and every shipping port and airport has his picture.” He turned to them and smiled. “I wouldn’t be too worried.”

Somehow that didn’t comfort Robbie. If there was anything Glanni was good at, it was falling through the cracks and disappear. Until next time he resurfaced.

“What are we to do with all this stuff?” He nodded to the contraband that Sportacus’ had collected into one of the old grocery bags.

“I’ll leave it for the staff in the petrol station,” he said and carried it inside, leaving Robbie alone with his intimidating uncle.

Sportacus had avoided looking at him since Glanni’s departure. What had he said to him, he wondered.

 

“So, uhm… Crazy day, am I right?” he laughed nervously.

Íþró snorted in reply. That was a start at least.

Sportacus returned shortly after with a new bag and gave it to Robbie. There was food stuff in there. Very thoughtful, but Robbie couldn’t do much else than thank him dumbly for the mirrored act from earlier and stuff it behind him as he tucked his legs in under himself on the flatbed.

Sportacus frowned at him again, but didn’t say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bye bye Glanni! You got what you wanted, y u complaining?!


	22. Chapter 22. Act 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Íþró becomes a babysitter. Because he's not dealing with two grown men apparently.

The flatbed bike was some sort of electric hybrid, which explained how the old man had been able to catch up with them and then shadowed them from a distance. It was nothing like those that Robbie had seen before and he figured that it had to be of the same origin as Sportacus’ aerial gizmos. That was not a comforting thought. Let’s just say, that if they took off into the air, Robbie was going to faint, after he’d cursed them, their children and their children’s children silly. They were traveling in what felt like a neck break speed, Íþró was feeding the generator with raw man power and the generator in turn took them even further, not that it stopped Sportacus from keeping up by their side.

Despite Robbie already occupying the flatbed with his rather cumbersome suitcases, there was still room to squeeze down one more person. But, Sportacus insisted that he needed to work the jitteriness out of his system after being forced to stay idle for so long. Robbie didn’t buy it. Call it bad social self-esteem and paranoia, but Robbie had the sneaking feeling that Sportacus didn’t want to be near him.

He'd barely looked his way while Íþró explained where they were headed. Robbie hadn’t really been listening that closely, but it wasn’t back to Flatley, or Skaleyjar. And when Robbie had asked Sportacus direct questions, trying to initiate any sort of conversation to distract himself from the fact that he was slowly losing his extremities to the biting cold whipping past them, Sportacus' answers had been short and not led anywhere and still, Sportacus wouldn’t spare him a second glance.

 

So much for calling them friends.

 

Robbie clutched his useless coat tighter, not that it improved his state of utter misery. It had rained not long after they had started their journey back west.

Thankfully nothing heavy, Sportacus’ had called it. Yes, a healthy drizzle, Íþró had concurred.

An Antarctic downpour, Robbie had argued.

The rain didn’t stay for long, but the damage was already done. He was chilled to the bone and now the icy wind breezing past his ears didn’t help him maintain any bodily heat whatsoever.

The older elf was of the chatty type he had discovered to his horror and the only one of the two willing to engage in conversation with Robbie.

“Don’t you know how to dress properly?” Robbie swore the geezer was mocking him.

“Had I known I was going to this frozen hellscape, I would have!” he retaliated.

Íþró only laughed at him. Good, he was glad someone found his suffering entertaining.

“This will be a good learning experience then.”

“Yes, because I’m learning _so much_ right now.”

Wonder of wonders, Íþró took pity on Robbie’s frozen _everything._  “I think this is a good place for a quick break. We’ll soon reach Leikbær and it’s a rather nice view from up here.” The bike slowed down to a complete stop.

“Why aren’t we going up directly to Vestfirðir?” Sportacus asked from the side of the road, the man had started to do sideway launches. Wasn’t running next to them for the past hours enough?

“Because you two left quite the mess to clean up. Frída’s family isn’t happy with you. We’re going to have to wait it out a day or so, and let Frída do what she does best and mediate peace between them and your family.”

Sportacus stopped mid-launch. “How is Frída? They said she was alright when I called.”

“She was fine when I left. But, she was worried sick about you.”

 

Robbie scrambled off the flatbed with as much dignity as his numb and stiff body allowed. He didn’t want to listen to them talk about Sportacus’ fiancée. The less he knew the better for his peace of mind. Sportacus would most likely marry her in the end. The way they had looked at each other, anyone sound of mind would’ve.

 

This time the drop of his blood pressure hit him like a ton of bricks. He’d already put some distance between himself and the men when he got tunnel vision and spots began dancing in front of his retina. A jingling, almost melodious, sound cut through the whistling in his ears, and he felt a presence by his side catch and settle him down in a crouching position on the ground when his legs gave out.

“Easy there.” It was Íþró.

He couldn’t help but feel the sting of disappointment.

“You should drink something, to help regain your strength. Passing out isn’t doing you any good.”

“Robbie, are you okay?” Sportacus came to stand in front of him, an anxious expression adorning his face.

What kind of question was that? Robbie flared up, “I’m okay. Of course I’m okay, I’m _always_ okay.” He was not okay. He was so far from okay, you’d need a freaking map and compass to find it. He tried to shake Íþró off him and stand up. The old man held him down by his shoulders effortlessly, he might as well have had tried to budge an ox.

“Take it easy, or you’re only going to have another fainting spell.” Íþró patted his shoulders and smiled behind his beard, “there is no need to rush.” He stood up, allowing Sportacus to take his position by Robbie on the ground.

Sportacus squatted down close to his side, right up in his personal space. A warm hand settled on his neck and another draped over his shoulders. Robbie wanted to push him away, wanted to shout in protest.

 

Why was he torturing him so? Robbie didn’t understand, nothing made sense anymore.

 

Sportacus had almost started to act normal again, then he’d given him the cold shoulder for hours and now _this_.

 

Sportacus drew him into a clumsy cradle. And Robbie let him. Relished in it even. Something in the way that the man nosed his hair and by the slight tremor in his frame told him that Sportacus needed this, for whatever reason he would not question. He adjusted the angle of his shoulder and sunk more comfortably into Sportacus' hold.

Robbie wasn’t sure if he’d somehow slipped into a state of Anti-Zen, where he’d crashed right through the wall and just didn’t give a damn about anything anymore. Sportacus had begun to hum some strange melody that was barely audible, if you weren’t nestled in like Robbie was. “You have a terrible singing voice,” he said. When things got weird. Joke.

“That’s not very nice of you to say,” Sportacus chuckled lowly and rested his chin on top of Robbie’s head with a sigh. “When was the last time you ate or drank anything?” He pulled back to look at Robbie. Robbie tried to remember, it was still Monday, right? He’d had those buns yesterday and nothing much else. He told Sportacus so. Robbie felt Sportacus tense up and put enough distance between them to properly look at his face.

He’d tried to school his expressions, but Sportacus’ bad poker face would never fool Robbie. The horror on Sportacus’ features were clear. He barked something at his uncle, Robbie could hear a distant rustling sound and shortly after Sportacus was thrusting something into his hands. It was one of the food items from the bag he’d gotten him, some sort of meal replacement shake.

“Does it look like I need to go on a diet?”

This time Sportacus didn’t laugh at Robbie’s quip. “It was the only thing I could find that I thought that you would drink and that wasn’t unhealthy.”

 _Not unhealthy_ , like Robbie didn’t have enough problems with standing the thought of food, without it being some abhorrent health stuff. “Thanks, but…”

“Robbie,” he pleaded, low, urgent.

“I can’t,” he admitted, “I’m just going to throw it all up again. Way to waste perfectly fine,” he tilted the shake to look at the lettering, “chocolate flavored shake?”

“Please,” Sportacus nudged his hands clasping the container insistently, “you need to get something in your system. Whatever was in that gas, it affected you hard.” He lowered his head down on Robbie’s shoulder, “don’t punish yourself for me. Please, Robbie,” the man repeated the plead.

Damn it. “Whatever,” he muttered and tore the straw loose from the side and fumbled with the plastic. “If I upchuck, it’ll be your fault.”

“I can live with that.”

 

He sipped on the straw slowly, the taste was indeed chocolate, only ruined by the tangy aftertaste of sweetener, but it went down and stayed down as well. The knot in his stomach eased up somewhat now that he’d gotten some sort of fluid into him. Sportacus had stayed by his side the whole time and kept a steady hand between his shoulder blades while he murmured small words of encouragements to not drink it too fast, to go slow, they had all the time in the world. It was demeaning, yet comforting.

When he was done, Sportacus took the empty container from him and tossed it back to where Robbie figured the bike was.

“Are you feeling better?” he inquired.

Robbie nodded. “I think so. It’s a bit too early to say.”

He got a hum in reply from the other man.

 

They had slipped into a comfortable silence, so naturally Robbie had to ruin it by opening his mouth.

 

“Why are you acting weird? You’ve been _off_  ever since we lost the only sensible transport we had.”

Again, Robbie felt Sportacus tense up and begin to withdraw. Robbie took one of his bracers in a tight grip. One that he knew that Sportacus could easily get out of, no matter how hard Robbie might hold on. Sportacus didn’t, he settled back, but his gaze travelled to the side, away from Robbie.

“Look at me, Sportapuzzle.” He swore he was getting whiplash from this emotional yoyo-ing Sportacus was handing out.

Sportacus looked back at him, his moustache twitched and he bit his lip, hard, then let it go with a sigh. His lip red and raw from the abuse. Robbie shouldn’t stare, but there were many things he shouldn’t do that he did anyway. He looked up to meet Sportacus’ blue eyes, that was somehow worse, he shouldn’t have told Sportacus to look at him, he took it back vehemently.

He braced himself for whatever might come. He could take it, whatever was bothering Sportacus about him.

“There… Is something I have to ask you. Something that your brother said.”

So, it was about Glanni’s parting words after all. “I don’t have a brother, I have disowned him. From here on, he shall be addressed as; The Parasite. Short for; The Parasitic Bastard Whom We Shall Never Speak of Again.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Robbie,” Sportacus exhaled, “do you have feelings for me?”

Robbie’s world came to a screeching halt. “Is that what he told you?” he asked. Oh look, there were still things that could affect him yet. He let go of Sportacus’ arm.

“Not exactly. Nothing that should be repeated in decent company. The condensed version was that you wanted me for yourself, _sexually_. And that’s the only reason why you came. But, more colorfully and depravedly expressed by him.”

Glanni was a dead man. “Now, _that_ does sound like him.”

“Robbie,” Sportacus pressed on.

“What?”

“ _Do you_?”

He could lie until he was blue in the face, claiming that Glanni was just messing with them. But, he couldn’t bring himself to. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Robbie had to bite the bullet. “Yes and no.” He hung his head, “I do, I think, but, that’s not why I came. I meant what I said earlier," he stressed, "I came because I wanted to talk some sense into you. Not to tell you to come back with me, or, or how I felt.”

And here Robbie thought that he already had hit rock bottom. So that’s what Glanni had told Sportacus. His life was over, he couldn’t possibly see any direction this could take that would redeem it. Damn you, Glanni.

They didn’t say anything for a while. He felt his face twitch and he wiped his nose. He was waiting for Sportacus to drop the other shoe and for the inevitable rejection. Friends was one thing, this however, was on a completely different level.

Sportacus spoke at last, “do you think that you can stand?”

“Yeah, sure.” He let himself be helped up and supported when he swayed on his feet a little. One shake wasn’t a fix it all. If it was, he would’ve used it to mend this permanent mess.

Sportacus didn’t lead them back to the flatbed bike, instead he tore off his hat and goggles, ignoring Íþró’s protests in the background, and stared wistfully out over the vast landscape of mountains and fields. Out in the distance, in a valley nestled in between the hills, were the reflecting lights from a cluster of houses. “We’re almost there, hopefully we’ll arrive before it starts to rain again,” he said. Robbie already knew that, the man was stalling. Sportacus closed his eyes and breathed deeply though his nose, when he looked back at Robbie, his expression was one of resolution. “You said I should make my own choices.”

“Yes?” Robbie couldn’t escape, try as he might. He felt Sportacus’ hand holding his headgear, sneak around his midsection and rest in the small of his back, but that wasn’t what held him in place. He was paralyzed by the intense electric blue of Sportacus' eyes, holding him stupefied.

“What if,” his eyes shifted to look down at Robbie’s mouth and then up to fixate him with his piercing gaze, “ _this_ was my choice?” he wetted his lips, leaning in just so, and Robbie was thoroughly lost.

 

If he was wrong, there was one final thing for him do, that would make things worse.

And he did just that.

 

He didn’t wait for permission, didn’t think twice to consider if he’d read the situation right or not. Robbie leaned down and kissed Sportacus, his hands instinctively finding their way up to cradle his head. Sportacus’ arm held him tight and his free hand grasped the back of his head to bring them closer together, deepening the kiss and slotting their lips together into perfection that lured a groan out of his depths.

It sounded disturbing, but if he could, he’d merge with this infuriating, wonderful man. To open his chest and become one. It felt _right_ , Robbie finally understood that feeling. Of being where he should be and getting what he’d been yearning for, for longer than he’d probably thought himself. And Sportacus was reciprocating, _wanted him_ as well in return.

The other man’s lips were thin, but warm and yielding against his own. His teeth graced his lower lip and Sportacus let out a desperate sound stuck between a whimper and a groan. His hand gripping in his hair and pulling him even tighter. A shiver ran through Robbie’s body at the act, responding eagerly and he worked his mouth against Sportacus’, switching between briefer, but no less just as intense kisses.

He pulled back, feeling light headed and unsteady on his feet, for more than one reason this time. He stroked Sportacus’ cheeks with his thumbs and kissed his brow with all the tenderness he could muster. Sportacus let out the smallest of gasps and held him painfully close. They stayed like that for a while, holding each other upright.

 

Íþró was… Well, Robbie didn’t know what to do, or what to read from the old man’s face when they turned around. It was alternating between shock, aggravation and dismay. The man settled for exasperation and covered his eyes behind his hand, leaned on the handlebars and swore profoundly. It was in Icelandic, but Robbie knew a bad word when he heard it.

 

Maybe kissing, no more than ten yards away from the poor old man, wasn’t the brightest idea.

 

The old man cast them one glance again, then shook his head and mumbled something to the heavens. “I guess Jón and the rest were right,” he said wryly.

Sportacus had the sense to look mortified when he realized that they’d kissed right in front of his uncle.

“Sportacus, strákur minn, why didn’t you say anything about _this_?” he said and gestured towards Robbie.

“Well, uhm, that is…” Sportacus was looking for a good answer and coming up empty handed.

“I’m just as surprised as you are,” Robbie defended what little virtue he had, raising his own physical hands in defense.

Íþró looked between the both of them and made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “Get on the bike, the both of you,” he groaned and pointed to the flatbed. “And put your hat back on before anyone sees you.”

Robbie raised an eyebrow at Sportacus, but he shrugged and looked as befuddled as he himself felt.

They fit snugly between the suitcases and Robbie ended up cradled in Sportacus' arms again.

“Áróra is going to have my head.”

“Amma wouldn’t,” Sportacus said over his shoulder.

“You don’t know her like I do. Trust me, strákur.”

Robbie wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened between them, he decided not to dwell on it and tried to bury his head under Sportacus’.

“We’re going to have to talk about this,” Sportacus murmured into his hairline, his lips brushing against his temple.

“Later,” Robbie murmured back as he felt the first drops fall from the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ノ┬─┬ノ ︵ ( \o°o)\


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are bedside manners?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm TRYING to keep this T-rated, dammit!

They didn’t go through the small village, but rather passed by and around its outskirts on a dirt road leading up to a hill. “We’re here,” Sportacus said into his ear and squeezed him around the middle one last time before he nudged him to get up and out of the flatbed.

Robbie surveyed his surroundings. There was nothing there save for the hi- Oh. Right…

Once he acknowledged that there was something there to see, his mind adapted to this new input and he was looking at what had to be one of the strangest homes Robbie had seen, and he had seen quite a lot of them, on his TV. Halfway cropping out of the hill and facing them was the flat brick wall with a red front door sided by two windows.

 

“Oh, so when _he_ has an underground haunt it’s _quaint_. But, when _I_ do it, it’s  _gobbling up the ground_ _beneath the town_ , and, _creating subsidence that puts whole neighborhoods in existential jeopardy_ ,” he groused. “Typical.”

“I hear someone’s feeling better,” Íþró snorted and then froze in his tracks when Robbie’s complaint sank in. “Wait?” he spun around to him, “I haven’t taken down the charm yet!”

Sheepishly, Robbie said, “oups?”

“ _Oups?!_ ” The old man tilted his head and gave him a disconcerted look.

“I wasn’t supposed to see it? Forget I said anything, go on,” Robbie flicked his wrist, “do the big reveal thingy.”

Íþró turned to Sportacus, frowning. “Strákur?” he asked.

Sportacus only shrugged. “He’s definitely feeling better. Robbie, do you see the house?”

“I see what looks like an area where they shot _Hobbiton_ , if that’s what you mean. All that’s missing is if the door had been round.”

Íþró gave them a questioning look.

“Don’t ask,” Sportacus said to him and turned back to Robbie. “How did you do it?”

He caught on what he meant. “Like you said; I noticed that something was off and the whatever mumbo-jumbo went _pop_.” Robbie didn’t know how else to describe it. It felt like popping air pressure from a forced Valsalva maneuver in his ears and it was as uncomfortable as one too. But, it got easier he had to admit.

Íþró eyed him warily for a little while longer and walked up the path leading to his home.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it an underground haunt. It started out as a turf house and has gone through a couple of changes over the century,” the old man humored him while he opened the door, “I usually refer to it when people ask, that I live in the hill. Even if it’s more accurate that my home _is_ the hill.”

Robbie didn’t really understand what Íþró meant, until he stepped over the threshold and nearly stumbled headfirst over the step down, all that saved him from faceplanting was Sportacus grabbing onto his collar, which instead made him choke.

“Mind the step,” he heard Íþró say.

Oh, that _old fossil!_ Robbie was going to give him a piece of his mind. As soon as he had relocated his Adams apple back into place.

The inside was orderly chaos. Not what Robbie had expected at all. He’d anticipated the same bare white walls and sparse furniture that he’d seen thus far.

Not in this case.

There wasn’t a wall that wasn’t covered in clippings, paintings, and different knick-knacks of cultural diversity. Sportacus had said that the old man travelled a lot, this had to be mementos.

He got what the old man had meant now. They were fairly in level with the ground and the shape of the roof and supporting pillars indicated that the outer housing of turf was for isolating the stone walls.

Íþró grumbled under his breath as he scooped up a pile of regular letters and paper airplanes in the narrow hallway.

Someone was popular. All the mail Robbie received were ads and collective notices from the video rental.

“Shoes off!” Íþró ordered as he disappeared down the corridor.

The floorboards were surprisingly warm under his feet. Sportacus had followed suite and taken off his boots, flexing his toes and groaning.

“We have to take off our shoes, but his stays on?” Robbie grumbled.

“His home, his rules,” the other stated.

Íþró reappeared from a side door that Robbie was pretty sure, was not the one the geezer had gone into. “I’ll show you to your room where you’ll be staying, it’s been a long day. And Sportacus, I trust that you know where your room is?” The tone he said it in was sterner.

“Yes?”

Íþró gave him a pointed look. “Good.”

Wasn’t it a bit too late to start chaperoning them? Besides, it was his idea to squeeze them together for the last part of the ride. If anything, he was the one at fault.

The collection of souvenirs only got worse the further in the narrow hallway he got ushered. He wanted to stop and take a closer look at a specific set of ornate shield and spear put on display.

“Celtic?” he inquired.

“Gallic,” his host answered, “but many do get them mixed up.”

Robbie nodded along, he didn’t understand the difference at all.

“This here, is the upper floor guest room.”

Upper? He noted, and voiced his question.

“It’s a downhill slope, it’s obscured from the side we entered,” Íþró explained, “the kitchen and the other main rooms are down on that level. This level has the guestroom with an attached toilet and a study reserved for visiting guests.”

“And Sportacus is?” he inquired, since the younger elf wasn’t going to be on the same level as himself.

“ _A pain in the behind_. He claimed the downstairs study room as _his_ as a small rascal and it’s been that way ever since.”

“For once, we do agree on something.” He looked over Íþró’s shoulder towards Sportacus with a smirk.

The elder scoffed. Sportacus was looking bashful and rubbing the back of his neck.

 

 

He didn’t exactly flee inside his room, but he didn’t waste time out in the corridor. “Gentlemen, I bid you goodnight.” And he shut the door, catching a snippet of the men outside switch to talking in Icelandic in hectic voices. He leaned his forehead against the cool surface of the door and sighed.

 

The guestroom wasn’t quite as badly littered with strange foreign objects. But, he could really do without the dusty bedspread, or the creepy dressing mirror. He jerked in shock when he saw the state that he was in and it was even worse when he went to the toilet and saw himself up close in the washing mirror. His hair was a tangled mess, and the dark rings under his eyes were almost black with traces of mascara that only made it starker in contrast of his pallor. Not to talk about the stubble. He looked like a husk of his normal self.

A quick rinse and wash would have to do for now, the stubble could wait until morning. Dressed in a pair of pyjamas he’d dug up, he found himself in mortal combat with the busted pulldown to the only window in the room. It was small, but that didn’t dishearten the amount of light seeping in. How did people up here live like this?! He managed to secure it in place by dragging a chair and jamming it against the wall under.

 

When he finally was under the duvet, the events of the day hit him.

And they did it hard.

He grabbed one of the ornate pillows and yelled into it. Only to throw it away onto the chair after getting a lungful of the dust it was saturated in.

So, this had just happened.

Everything Robbie knew had been turned on its head. His brother was a complete sociopath that had used him. He’d learned the harsh world altering truth that even Sportacus wasn’t devoid of mortality and could be hurt. They’d fought, which had been scary as hell. And they had kissed! That had happened, he was sure it wasn’t a figment of his imagination. He curled into a ball on his side and whined. How was this his life? He was too exhausted for working himself up into a full-on anxiety attack, but that didn’t stop his heart from painfully thunder in his chest.

There was no way that he’d be able to sleep and he resigned to stare into the opposite wall from the door.

 

A while later he heard a soft click. It might be his, mildly put, faulty sense of self-preservation misfiring again, but he was pretty sure that the shadow he saw by his door was a man, reflected in the mirror that he should have turned around. “If you’re going to get rid of me, I suggest you use that pillow on the chair to subdue me. If not suffocating gets me, then the dust and mites will finish the job,” he grumbled and flopped around onto his other side to face his unsolicited visitor. Putting Robbie out of his misery would be a true act of altruism.

“Wh, what?” a familiar tenor voice spluttered.

“Never mind then.” He raised up on his elbow and turned on the lamp on the bedside table. “Isn’t it past your bed time?” It had to be a little over nine by now.

Sportacus was standing in the doorway. “I couldn’t sleep.” He was dressed in nothing but a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt. This was probably the closest the man would ever come to actual pyjamas.

“After the day we’ve had, I’d expect you to be properly conked out eight o eight sharp.”

“I usually do,” he confessed, “but, there’s a lot that happened today,” Sportacus looked bashful again, “and I wanted to see you.”

“I get it. Now, are you going to stand by the door like a creep, or will you come over here?” He sat up and patted the duvet by his legs. Sportacus was a more than welcome company.

Sportacus swayed, but soon enough tip toed over and sat down by the end of the bed, well out of Robbie’s reach. He tried to sit up properly so that he could join him, but then Sportacus started talking.

 

“Robbie, about today…” He stared down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs. “What are we?”

Robbie visibly balked, short of letting out a ‘ _Yeargh!_ ’ So, they were heading into _that_ territory. “You’re asking the wrong guy here,” he managed to squeak out instead. Maybe he could wiggle his way out through the window?

Sure, he’d agreed that they would talk things through, but he’d hoped that it would be much later, until Sportacus forgot about it.

“Well, if we’re going to do this, I might as well start.” It was akin to ripping off a band aid, surely. Get over with this so that he could feel that firm warm body under his hands, or close that door of opportunity completely. “You know how I feel. What about you?”

Sportacus’ reaction and reciprocation had completely side blinded Robbie earlier.

Sportacus blinked. “Uhm, I’ve…” He looked up at the way he’d come in, probably looking for a physical exit just as much as Robbie was eyeing the window. ‘ _Tough luck, you wanted to talk, let_ _’s talk_ ,’ Robbie thought. Sportacus hung his head in defeat and continued, “I’ve liked you for a while, longer than I could admit to myself. Months? I don’t know.”

Robbie gaped. “Months… _And you still left?_ ”

“I thought you hated me.”

“That’s a strong word, one I reserve for someone entirely else.” He hugged his legs. It was a fair assumption. Robbie had once despised him and then later gone out of his way to hide his attraction to the town’s hero, but still. “I thought we got along well, before you left.”

“We have history.” Sportacus dragged his hands over his face. “Robbie, you’ve manipulated me, brainwashed me, betrayed my trust many times, poisoned me, tried to have me lynched, imprisoned me, put my life at risk.”

“Then why are you here?” Robbie said, his voice small. He had done all those things and much, much more. He felt like the scum of the earth. If this was Sportacus’ idea of revenge, it was working all too well. The door was indeed closing, by his own doing.

“It means, that I know what you are capable of,” he said. “And I won’t be delusional. If you hurt me again. I will walk away.”

It was fair. But, he had to ask, “why bother with me then?” Robbie had a track record of ruining things. He was already ruining this.

“Because I want to give this a shot,” Sportacus said softer, “against every better judgement, I want to be with you, Robbie. I’m head over heels and for the first time, I’m scared.”

Overcome and distraught from the naked admission, Robbie scrambled up to him. He didn’t want that door to close and yes, he ruined all that he touched, but he could at least try, damn it all. “I won’t let you down,” he said. “I promi-”

Sportacus silenced him with a kiss, clutching his head between his hands. It was desperate and hard. He whimpered into it. The other pulled back and rested their foreheads together. “You need to stop that. No more binding oaths,” he panted. Maybe the deliberate distance wasn’t to keep Robbie away, but to keep him out of Sportacus’ own reach.

“But, I-”

“No, I don’t want you shackled to me. I want to trust you. Not because you bound your life to me by force, but because you want to, I…” His words failed him.

“Sportacus,” he said to fill the silence where Sportacus’ voice had ended, Robbie repeated his name with reverence like it was hallowed, “ _Sportacus..._  I _adore_ you.” He clutched the other man’s head between his own hands, the hair was damp and smelled vaguely of floral scented shampoo. “No one infuriates me like you do, no one gets under my skin like you do. You’re everything I couldn’t have or couldn’t be. And I was idiotic enough not to realize _why_ , until it was too late to remedy things.” This wasn’t a love confession, not in the traditional sense anyway. “You make me feel awful in the best way possible, either it’s that feeling people write stupid songs about, or I’m having actual panic attacks, but I know I don’t want it to stop.”

“Robbie…”

He hushed him and continued, “I don’t want to lose this, whatever this is.” He pulled back to look at the other man. “I’m difficult at the best of times and I have no clue whatsoever what I’m doing here. But, I don’t want to hurt you. _I won_ _’t let you down_.”

The other man was staring at him in awe.

Yes, great way of declaring intent. Present yourself as a damn nutcase. ‘ _Great work, Robbie_.’ He felt very small and exposed, maybe he should have escaped through the window earlier while he still had the chance. He let go of Sportacus and shuffled back to settle in under the duvet.

 

“I adore you too,” the stunned man managed to whisper. “So much.”

 

They were both nutcases, then.

 

“I should probably leave,” Sportacus said, “it’s very late.”

They had quite different ideas of what _late_ constituted as.

Sportacus didn’t move away.

 

He didn’t want to be alone in this strange room, in a stranger’s home, alone with nothing but his own thoughts. He’d had a small taste of what being with Sportacus felt like and he desperately wanted more. Craved it.

Robbie reached after his hand to tug the man to him and said what he’d tried to communicate up on that hill in LazyTown, “Stay.” He could only hope that this time he was getting through to the man. Especially now that the meaning behind it meant so much more. “Stay with me, please?” He might as well throw what little dignity he had away and beg.

A warm smile spread over the man’s face and he took the hand in his own and kissed his knuckles. Making Robbie’s insides all a flutter. “Is that what you want?”

“Y, y, yes?” Absolutely useless. One smile and kiss, and he was reduced to a stuttering mess.

 

He kissed the inside of his wrist and released his hand. Sportacus crawled up on top of Robbie, still smiling at him. Robbie let his head fall back on the pillow, more than willingly, as the man made his way up to hover mere inches from his face.

Robbie had to remember how to breathe, or this would get awkward quickly.

“Hey,” he breathed out on top of him, their noses nudging.

“Hey,” Robbie echoed, closing his eyes and tilted his head slightly to accommodate Sportacus’. The other man took that as an invitation and dipped down for a soft kiss. It was over far too soon.

Sportacus was snickering.

“What’s so funny?”

“This should have been my wedding night.” He supported himself up on one forearm and traced Robbie’s face with the other, along his jawline and then up to follow the cheekbone. “Instead, I’m in bed with a _man_.” His fingers ghosted down the bridge of his nose and along his lower lip. “I’m in bed _with you_.”

“Is that a problem? I mean, I was sure you were straight,” he blurted out. Well, he had assumed, at least.

A twitch in Sportacus’ brow. “I always found you attractive. I don’t know about the rest. But,” he gave him a sly smile that woke a stirring within him, “ _this_ is not a problem.” The drop of his voice wasn’t helping Robbie’s blood-flow.

He thought he was attractive? Well, that was a no brainer. If he didn’t, then this trip would have had a whole different outcome. But, _always?_

Sportacus sat up and got off him. Robbie mourned the loss of contact, but was pleasantly recompensed when Sportacus slinked in under the duvet and reclaimed his position on top of him. This time with nothing but their clothes separating them. Robbie didn’t waste time, grabbing onto the broad shoulders and dragged himself up and into an open-mouthed kiss. Sportacus made a surprised noise but didn’t pull away.

 

“Enough talking.” He punctuated his words with another kiss, one that turned into something longer and deeper. When Sportacus initiated it, Robbie quickly followed suite and allowed Sportacus’ tongue to enter his mouth to mingle and play with his own. Pleasant thrills were running through his body, up his spine and out to his fingertips. He let out a dark moan when Sportacus’ tongue grazed the sensitive roof of his mouth and he tugged on the damp locks as he tried to give as hard as he got. His hand not entangled in the blond locks skimmed over the muscles of Sportacus’ back, uselessly clutching to him, one moment in the small of his back, the other at his shoulders. When he dragged his hand down along the side of his ribs and further down, grabbing that perfect butt. Sportacus let out a shaky moan and rocked his body into him. He began suckling on the tender flesh under his ear, which made Robbie gasp and spurned on by the noise, Sportacus worked his way down until he was stopped by the collar of Robbie’s pyjamas. Bested by a piece of silk, he returned up to Robbie’s face. Both were breathing raggedly.

 

What Robbie’s baser instincts told him was to roll them over and tear off Sportacus’ leisure wear.

He fancied himself a gentleman, but damn did Sportacus make it hard. That was a poor choice of words… They were pressed up against each other, with limbs entangled, with nothing but thin layers of fabric in-between. There was a mutual _interest_ , no doubt about that, but given their current state, it was as they said; the spirit was willing, but the flesh was running on nothing but fumes.

They seemed to be on the same page. “Is it alright if we only kiss? Not that I don’t want to, but…” Sportacus rasped.

“That’s alright,” he replied, “that’s more than alright.”

He took in the display on top of him. Sportacus was short of breath and his eyes was that dark indigo again, but this time for a whole different reason. A more than healthy flush colored his cheeks along with the angry red from beard burn. Not that that had seemed to deter the man. Judging by how he grinned and dipped down for another open-mouthed kiss that had Robbie’s toes curl and arch his body up.

 

The kisses became slower and lazy, Robbie realized that Sportacus had to be just as exhausted as he himself was. He pulled back. “Go to sleep, Sportasnore,” he said and fumbled with locating the off switch to the lamp, before his hand returned to stroke his lover’s hair in the now dark.

“Back to the nicknames?” Sportacus murmured into his collarbone.

“What would you prefer? Sportadear? Sportahoney? No, I know, how about Sportacute?” he teased.

“Stop,” Sportacus laughed under his breath and swatted at his shoulder, the laugh turned into a wide yawn and he adjusted himself so that he was halfway lying on top of Robbie, using his chest as a pillow. There was a mumbled ‘ _G_ _’night_ ’ before he fell silent.

It didn’t take long until Sportacus’ breathing evened out and he was sound asleep.

His hand was still buried in the wild tangle of locks and he tilted his chin down to kiss the top of Sportacus’ head. “Sportalove,” he murmured.

Sleep came to him as well not long after that. Surprisingly enough, instead of feeling trapped, the weight of Sportacus’ body was grounding him and he felt safer and less restless than he’d been in a long time.

 

He woke up to the room bathing in daylight, not that was any indicator what time it was. The makeshift solution with the chair had given way sometime during the night. He noticed that that was not the only thing that was amiss.

 

He was alone.

 

Robbie had time to go through all the five stages of grief, when he then had mentally kicked himself. The guy was a notorious early riser, duh!  He rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow, and groaned. The pillow still smelled of the shampoo Sportacus had used. 

He more or less tumbled out of bed after many minutes of bargaining with himself. He desperately needed a shower. Unlike the remnants of Sportacus’ clean flowery scent, Robbie smelled like stale sweat and wet sheep. Not to mention that his hair was a disgrace. Sticking his head into the hallway, he heard the muffled sound of voices and he dragged himself in the direction of the source. Down one flight of stairs and into what he figured was a sitting room, slash gym, he located its source of origin and peered into the threshold of the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned into a much longer chapter than usual. Ah, well.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie VS Íþró

“I saw your morning routine, you’re getting sloppy.”

Sportacus drew his legs up to sit cross legged on the wooden kitchen sofa. “I don’t think-”

“No excuses. You take shortcuts and move without discipline. We’re going to have to go back to the basics and focus on your core, as well as your endurance, today.” Íþró drank from his cup of black coffee he was nursing in his hands and adjusted his fisherman sweater. It was a cold damp Tuesday morning with volatile changes between sunshine and rain.

Sportacus accepted his fate that he’d be out training in it later. He eyed the hat next to his own on the rustic table separating the two elves, to be more precise, the bell attached to the hat. Íþró had kept his crystal. It wasn’t forbidden per say, just, frowned upon. Then again, Íþró was the only numbered hero that had made it into retirement age this past century. He should trust his judgement when it came to his form.

The discussion they had been engaged in stopped when they spotted Robbie standing at the entrance, squinting at the light filtering in from the windows. “Good morning, Robbie,” Sportacus greeted him.

Robbie staggered into the kitchen, still dressed in his pyjamas and yawned, “what time is it?” He looked far better than he did yesterday, there was some color back on his cheeks and his eyes weren’t as hollow, though he needed some grooming. For a man that prided himself in his appearance, it was quite jarring seeing him in a state of neglect.   

“It’s almost eight,” Íþró informed him.

“Urgh,” was all he muttered, “that’s just wrong.”

Either Íþró misunderstood, or he was continuing with his teasing of his new favorite target. He said and nodded towards Sportacus, “this slouch slept in this morning too.” Peering over his cup at him as he did so.

Sportacus forced a smile and put more cured salmon on his plate.

Robbie took in the room, he didn’t look all too impressed with what he saw. Or, maybe he was still trying to wake up. The kitchen was, what some would call, retro. Truth was that Iþro hadn’t bothered with any improvements since the early sixties. Once, the cabinets in pale blue pastel had been vibrant.

He rubbed his eyes, still waking up then. “What,” he frowned, “is _that?_ ” He pointed at his plate.

“Cured salmon.” He smiled and put a slice on a piece of crispbread. “Frændi Íþró makes the best there is.”

“First of all, that’s disgusting,” Robbie was gaping at him in revulsion. “Second of all, you’re telling me you actually eat _meat?!_ I thought you were a vegetarian!”

That caught Íþró’s attention. “Why so?”

“He only eats his _Sportscandy_ , day in and day out, nothing but fruits and veggies!” Robbie was waving his arms, Sportacus had to duck not to get hit in the face.

Íþró’s gaze switched between the two men in his kitchen. “Is that so?” he said gravely.

 _Oh no_. “Frændi…”

The revelation that he’d said something, that put Sportacus on the spot regarding his eating habits, lighted up Robbie’s face with glee. “ _Ooh, someone_ _’s in trouble_ ,” he sing-sang in mockery of Sportacus’ usual catch line.

His uncle dunked a new plate brimming with salmon in front of him. “ _Eat_.” His tone didn’t leave room for compromise. “You need to watch your blood count, strákur. No wonder your performance is subpar.”

Robbie grinned down at Sportacus. He in turn just put more fish on the crispbread and ate it delightfully. It did taste good. This had Robbie gag and turn away. They were childish, the both of them. “Is there a shower or anything I could use?” he asked his host.

“There’s one down to your right, just continue that way until you reach the second door.”

“Thank you,” he said and left, mumbling something about early birds and fermented disgusting fish.

 

Robbie’s glee appeared to be short-lived. There was a terrified screech and a crash.

Sportacus was halfway out of his seat to go look up on Robbie, but his uncle motioned for him to remain seated. The bell hadn’t chimed either, so Robbie was probably alright. Albeit, rudely awakened fully now.

“It sounds like he found the mask from Zambia.”

“You really should move that thing.” His uncle had a peculiar sense of humor and choice of where to display his more _excitable_ possessions.

Íþró sipped on his beverage, seeming to mull it over. “Nah,” he eventually said. The elder put down his cup in tandem with the sound of a door closing.

It didn’t take long until the door to the washing room opened again. “There’s something wrong with the water!” they heard Robbie’s disembodied voice shout.

“It’s the sulphur from the hot springs,” Sportacus answered, “it’s smells like that, but it won’t cling to you!”

“Welcome to Iceland,” Íþró chuckled into his cup.

Robbie said some well-chosen colorful words before he shut the door again.

 

His uncle waited for Sportacus to finish his plate until he spoke again. “So, _he_ _’s_ the one you wrote to me about.”

“Yes, you saw it for yourself yesterday,” Sportacus said and nodded.

“Seeing through charms, or weaving their own, is not unheard of by humans and, if your eyes are alert enough, charms and illusions are child’s play. Speaking of alert,” he got him with a piercing gaze, “I also happened to see you sneak down the stairs this morning. Don’t think for a second that I don’t know what goes on under my own roof.”

Sportacus startled. He thought that he’d been undetected. “We didn’t, I mean, I slept with him but not like…”

“I don’t care,” Íþró retorted. “You’re a grown man, and I advise you to act and own your deeds like one too. Heaven knows that we wouldn’t be in this mess, if you’d done it a long time ago.”

They were back to the argument from yesterday. _Why hadn_ _’t he said anything that he was having second thoughts?_ _Why hadn_ _’t he told them that he_ _’d found someone?_ And so on.

He was getting tired of it.

“It’s not fair to Frída.”

Sportacus winced.

“ _Or, your Robbie_.”

He blinked. That was new.

Íþró got up to pour himself another cup, turning his back to Sportacus as he spoke, “I can’t decide for you, on what you can and can’t do, when it comes to your personal affairs. So, stop sneaking around like a spineless juvenile and stand your ground.”

“You’re right,” Sportacus admitted. A lot of this could have been easily avoided, if Sportacus had been honest with himself from the beginning and said something. And he shouldn’t sneak around as if Robbie was some dirty secret. It wasn’t fair to him and he deserved far better than that.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it can’t be anything good,” Robbie announced his return, “you look like a kicked puppy.” He then addressed Íþró, “you’re almost out of shampoo. And what’s up with all the pinewood in there?”

“It’s a sauna,” the elder replied and gestured to the pot. “There’s coffee if you want.”

“No thank you,” he wrinkled his nose, “I’m good.”

 

Robbie was wearing his normal attire, cleanly shaved, and styled with his hair in the usual pompadour. Sportacus had to admit, the man cleaned up nicely. _Very_ nicely. He uncrossed his legs and shuffled to the side, signalling for Robbie to sit beside him. Tentatively the man did so. His frame was tense and he sat ramrod straight next to him. Sportacus frowned, was something the matter? He reached for Robbie’s hand, stroking his finger’s over the back of the hand.

Robbie grasped it in his own and visibly relaxed, looking shyly down at the table top and blushed just so. Oh, he realized why Robbie was cautious of approaching him. This was all new territory for them both.

Sportacus mirrored the same dopey expression and nudged their shoulders together. He would stop hiding from now on he decided and rubbed his thumb over the other man’s knuckles, leaning into him closer. It would take time for them to adjust and Sportacus was if anything patient, but, it didn’t hurt to show Robbie that his advances weren’t unwelcome in any way whatsoever.

 

His uncle observed them. “I hope you two know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“I’m sure,” Sportacus said, feeling confident.

Íþró didn’t look persuaded and turned his attention to the man next to Sportacus. “Robbie, do tell. How old are you?”

“I’m forty-two,” he replied, frowning at the out of the blue question, “why?”

“Sportacus, you’re turning fifty-two soon, correct?”

Robbie gave him an owlish look, “you’re _older_ than me? I thought you were younger?”

“You’re almost right there,” Íþró continued, “now guess _my_ age.”

“I’m not sure where you’re going with this, old man, but, eehh… I dunno.” Robbie tilted his head and squinted. “Seventy-ish? A very spry seventy-ish?”

The old man laughed. Sportacus didn’t like it, he knew where this was going. Why hadn’t he thought of _this?_ He’d been too caught up in everything else that he forgot _age!_ For someone that claimed that they didn’t have any say in Sportacus’ affairs, his uncle sure did what he could. But it was not completely unfounded. This could be a problem. _Robbie could think that this was a problem_.

“Not even close. I’m one hundred and eighty-nine,” he informed him.

Robbie sat there in shock. “Well, uhm, you… You look great for your age,” he mumbled eventually, wide eyed.

Íþró gesticulated between them on the kitchen sofa. “You do realize what that means for you two?”

Sportacus squirmed in his seat. Here came the verdict.

 

“I’m a cradle robber!”

 

Okay, he hadn’t foreseen that kind of reaction.

 

Neither had Íþró. “That’s not what I-”

“Sportacus, I took you from your mother’s bosom! I’m a pervert!” he exclaimed, his expression comical and exaggerated.

“Robbie, stop,” Sportacus began to laugh.

“No, no I’m serious here!” He gasped, “am I going to _jail?!_ ”

Sportacus was laughing so hard he felt a stitch in his side.

“I take it you don’t care,” Íþró droned.

“Not at all,” Robbie smiled, cocksure. “Do we get your blessing now, or some other obsolete thing like that?”

“You don’t need it. I’d say, that you two clowns deserve each other.”

“I’m not hearing a no.”

Sportacus wiped the corners of his eyes and squeezed Robbie tighter where they sat, he gave him a quick peck on the corner of his mouth.

“Eww, fish breath,” Robbie complained, but was still smiling, “at least I brushed my teeth. I’m trying to be the considerate one here.”

 

“That can be remedied,” his uncle said. “Here,” he dunked another plate in front of him as well, “you’re eating too.” Even Sportacus was starting to wonder if their host’s pantry wouldn’t eventually run out of salmon, despite it having been an excellent year so far. Íþró had three rules when it came to food; fresh, locally produced or self-caught, and homecooked. The only exception was his three cups of black coffee per day. There was only so much food you could store.

 

“What?!” Robbie stared at the plate, then up at Íþró, then down at the plate again. Visibly blanching at the prospect of eating fish. _Raw_ fish. He pushed the plate as far away as he could. “How about, no?”

Íþró pushed the plate back at him. “You, if anyone, need the fatty acids. Your creaking joints complain louder than those stairs. If you are to stand any chance of reaching old age and keep your health, not to talk about your figure, I suggest that you start with altering your diet.”

Make that four rules; no resistance to offered food. Not in this household.

He himself, preferred to nudge people in the right direction and gently persuade them to make better choices for themselves and others. Íþró was about as gentle and subtle as a battering ram and would not shirk from attacking weak spots.

 

And then there was Robbie.

 

The two men were glaring at each other. The tension was palpable and neither seemed willing to back down.

Sportacus deeply regretted any thought he’d had of introducing them to each other. This might be Robbie rubbing off on him at last, but he was wondering if he could hide under the table. Just in case.

 

Then, for the second time that morning, Robbie did something that took the elves completely by surprise. He grinned wide and chuckled.

Íþró frowned at the display, then looked down at the plate.

It was empty.

Robbie just wiggled his eyebrows and leaned back against Sportacus again.

The elder seated himself and picked up the plate to examine it, momentarily distracted from his mission of changing Robbie’s ways. “Impressive sleight of hand.”

This gave Sportacus an idea. Íþró didn’t believe that Robbie was capable of bigger feats, beyond an eye for detail and concealment. He hugged the man beside him with one arm and said to him, smirking, “Robbie, why don’t you put something on and give a demonstration?”

“But I just got dressed and fixed my hair,” Robbie whined.

“Please?”

“You know, that could be misinterpreted, right?” he sighed and got up. “At least you didn’t tell me to put on _something comfortable_ ,” Robbie grumbled. He stuck his head in one last time, saying pointedly, “there better not be any more disgusting fish for me when I return,” and then disappeared.

“What are you up to?” Íþró inquired, placing the empty plate down and reached for his coffee.

“You’ll see,” Sportacus smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Íþró is like the elf equivalent of a grandmother force feeding their guests. (We all have one)  
> Longevity? Yes, I went there... Minus the angst.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crash course in Nordic etymology and the grim history of the hidden people.

He didn’t know what he had expected of Robbie, but it sure had the intended effect on Íþró.

Standing in the threshold was Sportacus himself. From the hat, mustache, the west, down to his boots.

Sportacus would never get used to this particular disguise.

His uncle put down his cup on the saucer with a clatter. “Well, I’d be damned,” he said under his breath.

“ _Hello, Fr_ _ændi I_ _þro_ ,” he smiled. Even the voice and accent coming out of his mouth was Sportacus’.

Íþró stood up and circled the copy standing before him. The fake Sportacus crossed his arms and stood firm with a cocky grin in place.

“Remarkable,” the elder muttered.

Sportacus mirrored the same grin that his fake wore. “Do you believe me now?”

“I must admit, I was wrong,” he waved a finger at him, “and no smart remarks.”

“If you say so,” they both echoed in reply.

He grimaced and turned his attention back to the man in front of him. “Can you do more than pose, or is this all you got?”

“Of course not.” The not-Sportacus did a handstand and walked on his hands across the kitchen floor.

His uncle smirked at him. “His form is as bad is yours,” he chuckled and poked the upside-down figure’s leg, resulting in the man to squawk and barely managing to catch himself from sprawling on the floor.

For a split second there, Sportacus thought he caught a glimpse of Robbie’s true appearance, but it disappeared just as quickly.

“Have you ever heard of manners?” the copy on the floor spat.

“Don’t get snippy with me, or I’m putting you through the same training later with Sportacus as well.”

“Apologies?” the Sportacus on the floor tried.

Íþró arched an eyebrow in amusement and helped the copy up. Turning his hands in his grip, inspecting the details closer and frowned. There was a faint old scar on his right hand from one of his exploits as a child. Robbie had managed to copy that small detail as well. He let go off him, still frowning.

He seated himself next to him and smirked. Sportacus truly didn’t know what to make of the disguise.

Neither did his uncle, it would seem, as his gaze flicked between the two sitting men and the frown deepened further.

He decided that he wanted his Robbie back instead and plucked the mustache off, the glue caught on the man’s upper lip in the process and he yelped.

“Oww! Domestic abuse!” The image melted away and it was once again Robbie sitting next to him rubbing his lip in offense.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly and removed the hat as well.

“Killjoy,” Robbie grumbled and subtracted a sandwich that had survived from yesterday from his west. “Way to end the fun.”

Íþró was examining Robbie with the same pinched expression and stroked his beard. “Let me guess, when you lose concentration or panic, the disguise comes down?”

When Íþró put it that way, it made sense, he realized. He’d never seen through Robbie’s disguises unless he was allowed to, or Robbie realized that part of his disguise had come undone.

“Could it be?” his uncle said to himself after a while. “Wait here.” He left them in the kitchen.

Robbie took a bite out of his sandwich and gave him a questioning look, Sportacus shrugged, he didn’t know what Íþró was up to either.

“Why did you bring _that_ outfit with you?”

Robbie shrugged and swallowed. “I packed everything I saw in front of me.”

“Even the-?”

“ _Everything_.”

 

Íþró soon returned with the envelope that Robbie had handed them yesterday after going through Glanni’s stolen goods.

“I thought I recognized these pedals, though I’ve seen them mostly in pink and purple before,” he said absently and sat down in front of them and opened the envelope.

The pale blue pedals in the zip lock bag had wilted and nearly dried up completely by now.

His uncle continued, “you see the shape of the pedals? Looks like small naked men with big hats, don’t they? It’s earned them a rather fitting name. Anyhow, I’ve seen them before when I was travelling through the Mediterranean countries a few years back. The flowers are indeed pretty and the smell pleasant.”

Robbie made a disgusted noise, not agreeing.

He opened the bag and took out a pedal, holding it up to the light for them to see, Sportacus caught a waft of the sweet smell from the contents of the zip lock bag. His uncle put it in his mouth and chewed on it, before he spat it out in his empty cup. “They don’t do much for most huldu, no more than a drink and nothing at all for humans. But there are some that can’t stand them and even be toxic to.” The bell on his hat chimed. “Right on time, as I was afraid,” he said and looked over to Robbie.

Sportacus looked as well, the man by his side had gone awfully quiet.

Robbie had dropped what was left of his sandwich in his lap and had frozen up completely, covering his mouth and nose with his hands. Looking like he might either pass out or be sick any second.

“Close the bag!”

He didn’t need to repeat himself as his uncle was already putting it away quickly.

“Robbie, are you okay?”

He shook his head frantically.

“Just, breathe, alright?” he said in a soothing voice and rubbed circles between his shoulders.

Íþró stood up and took the bag with the strange pedals with him, when he returned he put together a warm mug with honeyed water and ginger. “Here, for the nausea,” he said as he placed it in front of Robbie.

He gingerly took it in his hands and sniffed the contents, sipping on it suspiciously.

“Take your time, drengur.”

The taste of the honey eventually won Robbie over and he drank the beverage, far quicker than Sportacus would have liked, but he appeared feeling better now.

“I hate those damn orchids,” Robbie managed to say.

“I believe you,” Íþró replied, “I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

“Frændi, what’s going on?” Robbie’s reaction to the flowers had downright scared Sportacus.

“Nordic huldufólk are, mostly, unaffected by this flower, but there are some from southern Europe and North America that,” he gestured towards Robbie, “it's nothing short of poison for.”

“Your dementia is showing,” Robbie muttered under his breath, still looking a little green.

Íþró ignored the jab. “What do you know of your family history?”

“Not you too,” he groaned. “You’ve already seen what my half-brother, that I by the way have disowned, because that part bears repeating, and what he’s capable of. And my mom is pretty much the same and could have almost any man she wanted, and still can despite being a little over eighty. That’s all the weird crap I can think of.”

“Anything else?”

Robbie worked his jaw and tilted his head in thought. “I recently found out that my grandfather was Icelandic, but I can’t swear if it’s true or not and...”

“Yes?” Sportacus asked, the grandfather part was new information for him as well.

“I had a great aunt here named… ugh, I can’t remember… Sigrid? Sig… Sigrún! Sigrún Glæpur!”

“I don’t think I’ve... Wait, of course!” The elder exclaimed and hit his forehead. “Sigrún Glæpursdóttir!”

“So, you’ve heard of her?”

“Heard of? I knew her,” Íþró said. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but she’s…”

“Dead. Yeah, I know. No family left in this country, am I right?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Íþró stroked his beard and gave Robbie a once over. “This does change things even further than I initially thought.”

“How?”

“If you really are related to Sigrún… Then that means, that you’re at least one fourth Risastórt.”

 

Sportacus froze. Risastórt? Sure, Robbie was quite tall for a human but… of _Giant_ blood?

 

He switched to Icelandic for the sake of discretion, “frændi, are you sure? That’s quite the assumption to make, there are many people by the name of Sigrún. He’s tall and, yes, a trickster, but that doesn’t mean he’s part giant. Some of them are good with charms, but their forte are allures, besides I thought you said that Nordic huldu were unaffected by these flowers?”

“We both know how tightly connected the huldu communities are. I personally knew Sigrún and met her no-good brother Hjálmar before he emigrated to the states. There is no doubt about it,” he replied in the same tongue.

Robbie butted in, annoyed, “would you two stop that?! I know that you are talking about me and if you’re going to backtalk me, I would very much like to be able to defend myself!”

“What’s your grandfather’s name?”

“Ehh, Hjamlar Glæpur, only met him briefly, very tall and grouchy, he passed away when I was small.”

“Hjálmar, there you have it.” Íþró said smugly, “you're part giant.”

“I know that I’m tall, but, rude?”

“Robbie, your grandfather was one of us. Well, not _us_ , us. But, one of the huldufólk. A giant to be precise,” Sportacus tried to explain. He turned back to his uncle. “It would explain Glanni. But, Robbie surpasses his capabilities with charms by far.”

“That’s because that’s no charm or regular illusion,” said Íþró and nodded towards Robbie, who had gone worryingly still again. “That’s magic from the continent. What you got there, is a _Glamour_.”

“A what?” both of the men said in unison.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not referring to a lady’s magazine?” Robbie asked.

“It’s the English word for it anyway. Fundamentally, it works the same as the spells and charms that huldu, and some human witches wield in the north, it deceives the eye and can influence baser instincts. But that’s where the similarities end. It’s like comparing a dolphin with an orca. A glamour can manipulate those subjected to it to believe and be compelled to anything the wielder wishes. Magic in northern Europe and out here on the islands are dependent on runes, chants, blood sacrifices, or weavings. Whereas magic by the Faeries, our _cousins_ in the west so to speak, can wield it and create illusions and allures as easy as breathing or flexing a muscle.”

“Skipper versus a killer whale?” Robbie said. “Got it.”

“They tap in on their own energy just as you consume energy when you run, strákur. So, there is still a sacrifice of sorts. My bet,” he said and leaned back against the backrest of his chair while stroking his beard again, “is that you have blood from both here and somewhere else, Robbie. Either way, you’re a demi-Fae.”

“I’m a what?”

“Non-human. As in; Huldufólk, Oknytt, _Faeries_. We go by many names.”

“I think you lost me somewhere.”

Robbie wasn’t the only one to feel that way. Sportacus had a hard time too grasping the extent of what Íþró was saying. If, and only _if_ , it was true, then that would explain Robbie’s insane metabolism and constant earning for instant high energy snacks.

“What do you know about your father’s side of the family?”

“Nothing. I was named after him. That’s all.”

“The fact that you can weave glamours to this extent, even if so, quite crudely and untrained, your physical reaction to the pedals and the name _Rotten_ , most likely a taken human name, strongly indicates that your father could have been from one of the courts.”

“Courts?”

“It’s politics. The Seelie Court is more conservative and prefer to have as little to do with humans as possible, and the Unseelie have a more indifferent approach and are far more liberal with their use of magic. We’re people like everybody else with different opinions and social constructs. Icelandic elves for example are ruled by a monarchy with our capital in Kópavogur and have our society run parallel next to the human one. The trolls have their own king and the giants do as they please most of the time.”

“A shadow society? Cool. But,” Robbie raised his hands up high, “I’m human! This far-fetched and deranged claim of me being some multi heritage crossbreed makes me sound like a pathetic special snowflake.”

His uncle shrugged. “It’s not uncommon for huldu to mix with humans. The offspring of Trolls and humans are said to be exceptionally handsome.”

“I believe it when I see it,” Robbie muttered. “I know they say that love is blind and stupid, but why would anyone willingly bed a troll?”

“Usually for their riches, or their craftmanship.”

“Fair enough.”

“But, it’s unheard of huldu of different race to mix and raise biological children of their own together, despite superficial similarities.”

“So,” Robbie eyed him, “you’re saying that I won the genetic lottery, or something?”

“I’m saying you shouldn’t been born in the first place.”

“That was uncalled for.”

“Frændi!”

“Which brings me back to the subject of humanity,” Íþró said to placate Sportacus. “Humans are far more resilient than us. In many ways. The genetic makeup from your human side is what unified the other’s.”

“I think my head is spinning,” Robbie said.

Sportacus concurred.

“My advice is not to flaunt it. Humans don’t tend to react to _us_ that kindly in certain areas. They used to burn witches up in Vestfirðir, you know.”

“ _Us?_ Am I part of the pack now, or something? Is there some kind of initiation ceremony? I hope not. And why should I fear becoming barbeque?”

“Remember that I asked you not to call me an elf?” Sportacus said.

“Yeah, what’s up with that?”

Íþró, thankfully, took it upon himself to explain. He knew more than Sportacus did. After all, he had lived through some of it. “At our best, we are considered heroes and helpers. At our worst, we are portraited as demons.”

“That’s a little extreme, isn’t it? Mr. Goody two shoes over here? An undertaker of the devil? _Phu-lease!_ ”

“There is a reason that we prefer not to be called elves, outside of our own society. Had one of us been called out as an elf, in let’s say, in central Europe. It would not go well.”

“How so?”

“Elves in certain places, are associated with sexual assault, incubuses and unexplainable ailments caused by our arrows, and other far more despicable acts that were blamed on our people.” He levelled him with a stare, saying, “ever heard of _Infanticide?_ ”

“I don’t think I like the combination of those two words together…” He squirmed in his seat uneasily.

“It was a long, long time ago, even by our standards. But, the act of shunning ones new born, claiming that they were the bastard offspring of an elf, or a changeling, held on for far longer. Especially here in Iceland in the more remote villages.”

Robbie paled. “But, _why?_ That is horrible!”

“Sometimes, it’s easier to blame vættir for people’s misfortune, than to accept that their everyday neighbor could be the perpetrator. Thankfully, things have changed for the better, more thanks to the current belief that our mere existence is fictional.”

“It makes it easier to blend in with the human population,” Sportacus added. He had been cautioned enough times when he was younger, how he should hide his ears, give vague answers if anyone asked where he was from. Especially when it became clear that he wanted to follow in Íþró’s and Íþróttaálfurinn’s footsteps. He’d never seen his grandfather so angry before, his grandmother so quiet and Íþró had been forced to lay low for a while. It had been a weird uneasy period in his life.

“Our roots run deep and our life span makes new norms harder to form and be institutionalized, we are cautious out of a sense of self-preservation.”

Sportacus snorted, he’d heard of how Leikbær got its name, he wouldn’t say that Íþró was all that cautious.

The elder sighed, “Sportacus belongs to a generation that has never had to go through the harmful prejudices that his parents and I did. Even if the contemporary image of us is _elf on the shelf_ and getting constantly mistaken for garden gnomes, it’s by far better than being accused of drowning children. But it’s not all bad,” he continued, “we have been known as allies to humans as well throughout the times, aiding those in need, helping with the harvest, keeping the household safe, tended to and protected herds, and one or two rallies for the right to dance and merriment when the prohibition was in place.”

“Party animals, I should have guessed,” Robbie huffed. “Tell me then, why do you put up with all that? You live longer and are far stronger than humans, have magic on your side and what not else, why still hide and not change up the hierarchy?”

“As I said, humans are more resilient than us in many ways. They can go on without rest for far longer than us, even days, and require on an average seven hours of sleep, elves require at the very least nine hours to recuperate.”

“That I have noticed.”

“You might then as well have noticed, that we’re very vulnerable to processed sugars, and our blood sugar is extremely susceptible for low as well as high values. An over intake will imminently lead to our bodies shutting down until our levels have stabilized. Especially we sports elves, since our blood count is higher than the average, which can both work to our advantage, but it also puts us more at risk of permanent nerve damage if we don’t pay attention to what we eat, and in worst case cardiovascular failure if we crash bad enough.”

Robbie tensed up and stared in awe.

The elder took in the expression sporting Robbie’s face and shook his head solemnly. “I believe I have said enough that you can take in, for now.” Íþró put his hat on. “I’ll be in the greenhouse if you need me. Strákur, I want you outside for training in one hour. And don’t expect me to go easy on you.” Those were his parting words before he closed the kitchen door leading out to the garden.

 

“My life has been turned upside down and it’s not even noon yet,” Robbie said out to the empty air.

An understatement Sportacus felt. He quickly tidied up and washed the dishes. “What did you do with the salmon?”

“Check in the bread basket.” He took a shaky breath. “Sportacus? Why do you do it?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“This gig. You, going out of your way to save and helping humans, despite your people’s history with mankind?”

“Because it’s _the right thing_ to do,” he said while he checked the basket and confirmed that Robbie had hidden the slices at the bottom. “If we and humans ever are to coexist I want to help in whatever way I can, by acts of kindness and leading by example. The older elves, especially my grandfather, are bitter, but I can’t let ancient offenses dictate me or the future.” He held his gaze. “I believe that there is good in people.” And he did. It had other’s call him naïve, but so be it.

“What about people like Glanni? What about people like _me?_ ”

“Glanni should be kept away from the general population, I’ll agree on that. But, Robbie,” Sportacus approached him, knelt and took his face in his hands, “it’s especially people like you that makes it worthwhile. You’re brilliant in your own way. I don’t always understand why you do the things you do and sometimes you go too far. And I would not have you any other way. I know that you have a good heart. You’re a big softie and you care very deeply about the people in your life.”

“You heard that old goat, I could have given you a stroke, you altruistic fool,” Robbie whispered, “on several occasions.”

The distressed look on Robbie’s face was heart wrenching. He knew that Robbie hadn’t known the dangers involved and Sportacus’ crystal had never gone off once, alarming that he was in danger himself. He stroked his cheek and smiled. “And I should have said something sooner, but here we are. I’m here and I’m alright.”

“What about the church? You said it yourself, people could have died.”

“You didn’t know what was going to happen and,” he sighed and looked down, “if it’s true what Íþró says, then it’s most likely that our crystals reacted to you being in danger, not us.” He regretted how he had lashed out at Robbie by the lake. Anger was an ugly thing and he’d spoken rashly.

“Because of those pervert flowers. Still not buying into the whole crossbreed thing, though.”

“It doesn’t have to change anything.” He looked up again.

“Damn right it doesn’t. I know who I am; I’m Robbie Rotten.”

He chuckled and kissed him. Robbie melted into the kiss and steadied himself with his hands on Sportacus’ shoulders. They had an hour before Sportacus had to go outside and join Íþró, he was set on making the most of that time until then.

 

Robbie peered from under his umbrella. “He looks like he’s in pain.”

Íþró, not bothered by the downpour in the slightest, huffed with his hands on his hips. “It wouldn’t hurt, _if he hadn_ _’t slacked off_. Strákur, this is embarrassing!” he bellowed.

Sportacus bit back a pained whimper as he straightened out as best he could. His shoulders, lats and side abs were complaining loudly in his vertical position, holding the slippery pole for over four minutes. He screwed his eyes shut and continued counting in his head.

“Robbie, how long?” Íþró asked. Sportacus could swear that there was amusement in the elder’s voice.

“Six minutes and thirty seconds left,” he replied, echoing Íþró’s amused tone.

 

And Robbie had the gall to call _him_ a sadist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter. One filled with dialogue, bleh.
> 
> There's a reason why I have pointedly not used the term Glamour, until now.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living up to the trope as the embarrassing relative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that I have a tumblr? Yeah, I have a tumblr.  
> You can find me on xByDefault and on my art blog DrawByDefault!!!
> 
> (Am I shamelessly pitching my blog? Yes. Yes I am.)

“I need to bleach my eyeballs!”

A little extreme, Sportacus thought and laughed at the pacing man in front of him in the sitting room.

“Stop laughing at me, I’m going to need extensive therapy!” Robbie wailed.

To sum up Robbie’s trauma; Sportacus and Íþró had fired up the sauna and Robbie had been the unfortunate victim of spotting Íþró on his way out while Sportacus stayed a little longer to enjoy the first proper sauna bath he’d had in years.

“Does your old geezer not have any decency?”

“A towel is good enough coverage. Like you’ve never ever seen a naked man before?” Robbie had never struck him as a prude, but… “You have, right?”

“Of course I have! But no one should have to be subjected to a one hundred and ninety-year-old man’s wrinkly hide!”

“Eighty-nine.”

“Whatever!”

Sportacus chuckled and rubbed his own towel behind his ears before he let it drape over his shoulders. His uniform was still strung up to dry and he’d changed into the leisure wear he’d been provided with from last night.

He wound his arms around Robbie from behind and pulled him close, so far it had been Sportacus that had initiated intimate gestures and contact, seen as Robbie was still a bit skittish on that front. He nosed his neck, making Robbie squirm. “No, I’m still angry at you. The betrayal is still very fresh.”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, “sure you are.”

Surrendering, Robbie allowed himself to be pulled in. “At least you look like Michelangelo got some spare time to carve perfection.” He shuddered when Sportacus pressed his lips feather light behind his jaw. “Only ruined by that silly mustache.”

“Sorry, but the mustache and I are a package deal. You’d have to shave your eyebrows off to compensate.”

Robbie turned to look at him, said eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Is the facial hair some sort of weird cultural thing, or something?”

Sportacus hummed again in affirmation and went back to his ministrations of getting his mouth on every inch of the exposed skin of Robbie’s throat. There were more things he’d want and the fact that he was allowed to, was exhilarating.

 

“I’d have to say, at least you two are behaving better than Íþróttaálfurinn and Hjördis did when they were mooning over each other. I’m impressed,” his uncle’s voice carried from the threshold of the kitchen, “by now, I would have had to sanitize or burn all of the furniture, if you’d been half as frisky as they were.”

And there went Sportacus’ mood out the window. Nothing like mentioning his parents getting busy put a damper on things more effectively. “Frændi, no,” he whined.

“Justice has been served,” Robbie chuckled above him. “You want some bleach too for that vivid mental image?”

“If you two want more than that served, I suggest that you help out with dinner. Sportacus, can you go upstairs and see if there is any mail and Robbie, I want you helping out in the kitchen.”

Robbie took the towel from him and gave him a quick peck, hopefully a promise of something later.

“I’m not getting any younger, chop chop!”

Sportacus rolled his eyes and let go.

“And don’t you roll your eyes at me, young man!”

“I swear he has eyes in the back of his head,” Sportacus mumbled, shook. Robbie snorted in amusement and followed the voice of their host.

 

As per usual there was a sizable pile of letters and paper airplanes waiting by the door. One specific airplane caught his attention, it had the familiar seal from Skaleyjar, more so, it was addressed to _him_. He unfolded and read it.

 

_Sportacus, you have some explaining to do._

 

That first line hit him like a slap to the face, the person behind the penmanship was Frída.

 

_Things have been taken care of and quieted down, for the most part. Number Nine is in good health, but you already knew that I gather._

_Sportacus, is it true what Frændi Íþró’s letter said? You and that human?_

 

Íþró must have told them about Robbie then. He’d wanted to make the announcement himself, but perhaps, this was a good thing. They could all use some time to digest this new information before they met Robbie… Again. Whatever the next lines had originally been, it had been erased, judging by the fine wrinkles in the paper and gray smudges. Instead it read like this;

 

 _Either way, it’s safe to come back, my parents have returned to Ísafjörður and most of the guests have calmed down. With one exception_ _… I swear, negotiating with the humans’ road administration is a vacation in comparison_ _…_

_We need to talk about this._

 

Another rewritten line, changed into;

_Regards,_

_Frída Jónsdóttir._

 

The pit of Sportacus’ stomach felt like it was filled with lead.

 

He heard voices from the kitchen, Robbie and his uncle didn’t waste any time chatting up a storm.

“I thought you said that you didn’t care in the slightest?” he heard Íþró say in a mocking tone.

“I’m not saying that I care or anything, it’s just… What’s the life span of Giants?”

 _Oh_ _…_ He stopped to listen. The uneasy feeling grew.

“Eh, naturally a little over two-hundred and fifty. But they have a nasty tendency to get themselves killed in silly competitions and wagers, or fights over who’s intruding on who’s territory. Does that sound familiar to you?”

“Nope, doesn’t ring any bells.”

“I think you should be more worried about the other side of your family tree.”

“Nah, I don’t believe in this whole ‘ _your dad was a fairy’_ drivel.”

“Maybe so…”

“Hey, I think I found him!”

Sportacus entered the kitchen, not sure what to do of the conversation he’d heard. “Found who?” Robbie was standing bent over an old picture album on the table.

“I’m going through your baby pictures! You were a chubby baby,” Robbie teased and winked.

“You what?!”

“I’m kidding. But, there are some pictures of you as well in here, in the far back. Wow, some of these pictures has to be from the dawn of the camera. I’m surprised you lot could sit still long enough for anything to stick.”

His uncle was standing with his back to them, chopping ingredients for the stew. “I asked him to look through some pictures to verify if he could recognize his grandfather.”

“It’s creepy it’s what. He looks almost as grouchy as I remember him. Why’d he leave in the first place?”

“Debts. He was a no-good-doer that decided to drop everything for the American dream, and leave Sigrún behind to pay for his mistakes, during the end of the nineteenth century.”

“I can’t say that I’m all that surprised really,” he mumbled and made room for Sportacus to look at the picture as well.

The similarities weren’t as striking as the one between Robbie and his mother, but there was a strong resemblance of the nose and the high cheekbones, to be fair, he looked a bit more like Glanni with his bushy brows and the cleft in his chin. The dark-haired woman next to him had to be Robbie’s great-aunt. There were far more pictures of her than of Hjálmar and just how tall she had been could be seen when in comparison next to other people. She wasn’t trying to make herself smaller by hunching like Robbie did, she carried herself like many other giants he’d met. There were a few pictures of Íþró as well, though sparse. He knew there were far more in the back of him together with friends, or with Sportacus himself.

Robbie flipped through the pages and stopped when they reached the pictures in the middle of the album. It was a family photo with the chicken scratch, that was Íþró’s writing, next to it that said ‘ _Emil og_ _Áróra með litlum_ _Íþróttaálfurinn’._ It wasn’t the most flattering picture of them perhaps, pictures from that era tended to look grim and far too serious for his own liking. 

Robbie surveyed the picture. “That’s your dad, isn’t it?” he asked and tapped his finger below a bundle held in his grandmother’s arms, the babe was indeed Íþróttaálfurinn. “And here I thought my grandad looked like the most bitter s.o.b out there… No offense.” He furrowed his brow. “Is your grandma real short? Or is he quite tall for an, you know…”

“You can say elf when it’s just us. And no, not really, my grandfather is from the Faroe Islands. Most elves from there are taller and dark-haired.”

He nodded and spoke under his breath, “that explains Glanni’s bluff to get us into the church,” as he continued flipping through the various pictures of Íþróttaálfurinn. Even Sportacus had to admit that he and his father looked very much alike.

“Was there any mail, strákur?” his uncle called his attention to him.

“Oh sorry, yes there was. There was also a letter from Frída.”

“Well, what did it say?” he inquired and wiped his hands on a kitchen rag.

“It’s more or less safe to return.”

“Splendid! The stew is almost ready, you two, set the table while it simmers.” He took the pile from Sportacus and carried it wherever. “Another longwinded letter from Eðvarð, as per usual,” he sighed as he disappeared.

Robbie had gone back to flipping through the pages in the beginning of the album again, seeming to look for something. Sportacus, meanwhile, got the dinner plates and cutlery. The man stopped at a page at the front, frowned and squinted, then went back to the pictures in the middle.

“Looking for something specific?”

“Err, not sure. The organizing of the pictures are a mess. It’s hard to tell when everything is pretty much in black and white and grainy the first half of the book.” He flipped to the very end. “Aww, chubby Sportababy!”

“Please, put that away,” Sportacus pleaded.

“No chance I’m giving up this goldmine, I’m keeping these as blackmail.”

“Robbie!”

 

Chasing a shrieking Robbie for the pictures he’d snagged from the album took a while, but getting Robbie to actually try the stew had to take the longest, especially after he’d found out that the meat was lamb and had called Íþró a lying liar who lied. A pretty timid, if somewhat confusing, insult from Robbie thus far.

 

To his own disappointment, he was yawning long before eight and excused himself to withdraw to his room with Íþró reminding him that they would travel back north in the morning.

 

One hand on the handle of the still closed door and he halted in the motion as a presence behind him closed in. “And where do you think you’re going?” a baritone voice, that would never fail to send chills down his spine, purred in his ear. 

“To bed, to sleep?” After the rigorous session out in the rain, the sauna bath and a hot meal, he was ready for some rest, he’d need it if he’d be able to face tomorrow. He’d already kissed Robbie good night. Was there something he’d forgotten?

“Not in that bed you’re not,” Robbie said and took him by the hand. “Well, not unless you want to exert _very_ audible vengeance for earlier?” he down right growled and pressed up against his back.

“Upstairs,” he exhaled, finding it difficult to reel in the excitement in his voice.

 

Robbie did know how to take initiative after all, Sportacus was proven.

 

They both were awakened by Íþró banging on the door of the guest room. “You got five minutes to get dressed and start your routine before breakfast!” he heard his muffled voice on the other side.

“I think he means you,” Robbie grumbled behind him into his neck. “Make him go away.”

Sportacus stretched and yawned, feeling surprisingly well rested. The same could not be said for his bedfellow who buried his head under the pillow and groaned. He groaned even louder in protest when Sportacus lifted the pillow and pressed a kiss to his temple before he left.

 

“I thought I said that we would leave in the morning, it’s nearly noon,” Íþró groused when he’d finally gotten Robbie to abandon the sanctuary of his bed hours later.

“Yesterday was a freak accident. _This_ , is early enough for me,” Robbie griped right back.

 

If the two of them weren’t ganging up on Sportacus, they were busy butting heads with each other instead. He resorted to staying out of the way, certainly not trying to keep attention off himself, doing push ups while he waited.

 

Much, _much_ later, they were leaning against the bike outside while Íþró made sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything inside. 

“What does that nickname he calls you all the time mean?” Robbie asked him.

“It means boy, or lad. He’s called you a more formal version, I think he likes you.”

Robbie hummed, not entirely sure about that claim.

“He’s kept calling me it, even after I got my title as Number Ten, he stopped calling my father that after he’d gotten his as Number Nine. But, not me.”

“That’s because you’re forever the baby in the family. You’re the smallest,” he cooed. His voice dropped a register, “though, I would not call you an innocent one.”

Sportacus blushed and ducked his head. “That mouth of yours could get you in trouble.”

“I was hoping so.”

“Are you two done?” Íþró lamented, closing the front door behind him and approached them.

The grin on Robbie’s face was one of outmost smugness as he got comfortable up on the flatbed again.

Today was going to be a trying one, it would seem.

 

At least the weather was on their side this time. Sportacus was the one pedalling for a change while Robbie had to share his space with Íþró.

“So, how’s retirement treating you? Fighting that urge to meddle in people’s lives lately?”

“I keep myself busy,” the elder, seated next to Robbie said. “When I’m not out of the country visiting friends, I’m involved in road construction, or more like, obstruction.”

“Eh?”

“As you’ve noticed, many of our homes are hidden. When humans want to construct a new road, it sometimes happens that it’ll run straight through a neighbourhood, or the focal stone that the charm is bound to.”

“That’s why the infrastructure here is rubbish?”

Sportacus joined the conversation, explaining, “there are many so called _elven activist_ groups that spend time negotiating or buying us time to relocate our homes or the stones. Most of them are human and are oblivious to our actual existence among them.”

“Yes, a few years ago they managed to talk the human government into moving a rock tied to one of our churches while we relocated the actual church along with it, that one was thanks to Frída pretending to be a seer. She was less pleased, she’d preferred that they didn’t have to move it at all. As well did the administration.” He sucked on his teeth and said, “somewhere in the City Hall sits a very frustrated human with one of our own.”

“And what if negotiations fail?”

Íþró chuckled, “that’s where I come in. We’re not going to make it easy for them to mow our homes down. Usually a piece of important equipment going amiss, or machinery malfunctions, our goal is to merely slow them down long enough. I sometimes show up at the actual activist groups too. The humans think I’m an old gymnastics teacher, which I guess is not all too far from the truth. These types of groups tend to attract all sorts of people, some claiming to speak on our behalf, despite being human. 

“Do they?”

“No, they’re often the one’s with delusions.”

Robbie laughed at that.

 

The last bit by boat out to Skaleyjar, Robbie spent hunched in on himself being sea sick. Sportacus spent the same amount of time by his side holding a bucket if Robbie wouldn’t make it up to the edge of the fishing boat, just in case.

 

Thankfully, Robbie’s breakfast stayed down for the whole duration of the trip on the sea. But he was quite green in the face when he got off the boat and back on dry land again. “Never again,” he rasped. “ _Never. Again_.” Both of the elves had to catch the poor man when he stumbled on the old steps of the dock.

“If it’s any consolation, you're most likely not leaving by boat,” Íþró said and pointed to a spot above them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see that flying death trap before,” he sighed and looked up at the familiar blimp.

Sportacus hummed and led him further inland.

 

“I see the ruins,” Robbie said and stopped, rubbing his twitching nose and glared at the air in front of him. He turned to Sportacus, frowning. “When you said that you grew up on a small island in the middle of no-freaking-where. I wasn’t exactly expecting your house to be a two-story concrete building.”

“All the more reason to hide it.”

“No kidding.”

“You ready?”

“As always.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Eeehh, no? Not really? Can’t we just take the blimp and ditch them?”

 

Sportacus had to drag Robbie with him to his childhood home, and keep a firm hold of him as he knocked and opened the front door.

 

Robbie hid behind him with a small ‘ _Eep_ ’. The whole clan was waiting for them it would seem.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEN I get the time, I WILL write the "missing" scene as a stand alone... You bunch of pervs!!!
> 
> Íþró is referring to this incident:  
> http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3002096/Elf-safety-Road-developers-Iceland-ordered-giant-rock-route-believed-ancient-elven-church-Icelandic-folklore.html


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love does not conquer all, but they can damn well try.
> 
> Aka, Robbie meets the fam.

“Sportacus!” a chorus of voices greeted him as he stepped over the threshold.

The sitting room was filled with three generations on each of his respective parents’ side awaiting them with the odd aunt and cousin from his mother’s side thrown into the mix as well. This was a bit more than he’d anticipated.

It would take far more than that to pack the spacious room, but he felt crowded anyway when they all turned their attention to the entrance en masse.

“Hi everybody,” he grinned stiffly. His eyes were immediately surveying the room for a specific person. “Pabbi!” Sportacus exclaimed. He abandoned Robbie by the door with Íþró to cross the room to his father sitting in the middle.

“Sportacus,” Íþróttaálfurinn greeted him and stood up to meet him halfway. Sportacus noted that he favoured his right side and sported an ugly bruise on his cheek up to his temple. Glanni’s handiwork no doubt. “It’s good to see you, son.”

“You too,” Sportacus said and let him be hugged, trying not to squeeze too hard and let his arms rest around the older man’s shoulders, as he did not know yet how bad the injuries were. The fact that his father was standing and looking very alive was a huge comfort to him right about now.

He let go and allowed himself to be hugged by his mother as well, laughing. Over her shoulder his eyes met a pair of aquatic green and the smile fell from his face. Frída was sitting in-between his cousin and maternal grandmother, eyeing him warily. He swallowed on spit, he tried telling himself that he was ready. He untangled himself from his mother’s embrace and took a step back.

“I didn’t expect so many to wait for us,” he said truthfully. “Everyone,” he announced and walked back to Robbie, taking his arm and coaxing him into the room. Robbie stumbled in with one final tug. “This is… This is Robbie,” he said in English, making it clear that was the preferred language for now.

“Hi,” Robbie said meekly from behind him, clutching to his shoulders, trying to make himself smaller, which had to look silly given their height differences.

A pregnant silence filled the room.

His aunt spat in Icelandic from the couch, “the _human?_ ” His grandfather Emil nodded along with her, casting Robbie a dark look from his corner by his wife. They looked as grim as they had in their old family photograph.

Oh boy.

Íþró snorted in amusement from somewhere at the threshold. “Not quite,” he said. “He’s Sigrún Glæpursdóttir’s great-nephew,” he replied in the same tongue.

In the room, all the three elder elves eyes widened at that. For being a giant, Sigrún must have been an unusually active social butterfly in the community, it would appear. Àróra stood up as well and walked over to them, eyeing them critically with her blue eyes that once had been as intense as his own in her youth. He felt Robbie’s grip on his shoulders harden painfully. Her gaze moved over to Íþró with a stern expression on her face.

“I had nothing to do with this,” he defended himself against the judging stare from the short old greying woman.

“Sure, you didn’t,” his grandfather grumbled.

She joined her husband again. “Not now, Emil,” she said and sat down. Still looking at Sportacus and Robbie expectantly.

Íþró huffed something under his breath, something that Sportacus couldn’t quite catch and he knit his brows.

 

“Wow, _drama_ ,” Robbie murmured, sounding oddly amused despite his own predicament. Sportacus twisted his neck to look back at him disapprovingly. Robbie looked the perfect image of innocence, giving him a wide-eyed expression in return.

 

All eyes were on them. More exactly, on Robbie.

Someone coughed, the sound making Robbie jolt into action again with a final clench that had Sportacus biting back a wince from the grip.

 

Robbie was mumbling to himself, “okay, I can do this. I’ve survived planes and stinky fish boats, _I can do this_.” Robbie took a shaky breath and stepped forth. “Number Nine? Uhm, Sir?” he addressed Íþróttaálfurinn, “I am sorry for what my… For what Glanni did.” His hands were twitching and he brought them up to his chest, trying to calm himself. “I didn’t know what he would do.” The words were rushed. Sportacus wanted badly to step in, to show some sort of support, but this was Robbie’s moment.

 

His father eyed Robbie, then his expression changed into one of surprise.

 

“Wait. Robbie? Robbie _Rotten?_ ” his father spoke. “From _LazyTown?_ ”

“Yes, that would be me,” Robbie acknowledged, drawing his shoulders all the way up to his ears.

“ _Elskan_ , you know this man since before?” his mother asked Íþróttaálfurinn.

“I’ve been to LazyTown as well, many years ago. Apart from Sportacus’ letters, I’ve also met him,” he nodded his head towards Robbie, “when he was only a child, as well his mother. She left an impression, to say the least.”

Robbie whined at that.

He chuckled, “she called me _a long-eared dirty vagabond_ when I first arrived to LazyTown. She instantly knew that I was an elf and was very adamant that I stayed away from the both of you.”

“I… Did not expect that.”

Neither did Sportacus. He’d never met her, he didn’t even know her name yet and Robbie had already painted a pretty clear picture of her.

“I’m glad to see that you grew up well.”

“Thank… You?” Robbie was gaping, completely thrown for a loop. “I’m glad too, that you are well, that is, after what happened,” he choked out, flustered.

His father laughed, “I’m lucky that he didn’t go as hard on the head as he could have,” he patted his chest lightly, “and instead went for the soft parts, seen as I was wearing my chest piece underneath that fancy dress up. A few bruised ribs, but I’ve had worse.”

“You wore your uniform under the formal wear?” Sportacus asked. It had to be sweltering under all those layers.

“What can I say?” he winked at Sportacus’ mother.

Hjördis smacked his arm in aggravation.

The mood of the room lifted somewhat. Sportacus felt like he could finally breathe again.

 

Frída approached Sportacus and took his arm. She sought his eyes and nodded towards the door. He received the message loud and clear; they had to talk. But, did they really have to do it _now?_

Robbie turned his head after her, his facial tic making itself reminded in his nervous state, but whipped his head back when he saw Sportacus watching his reaction. Sportacus didn’t know if the expression he’d caught had been jealousy, insecurity, or fear.

Her eyes flicked between him and Robbie, questioning, frustrated even. He sighed and nodded his head in confirmation, he’d join her.

He grasped the bend of Robbie’s arm. “Robbie, there is something I need to take care of. I’ll be back with you soon,” he spoke, trying to sound reassuring.

The betrayal on his face said otherwise. “No, no, no, no, you can’t just leave me _alone_ with these people,” he hissed in ill-concealed panic.

“You’ll be fine,” Sportacus answered and smiled. His father and uncle were with Robbie, so he would be safe… He hoped.

Íþróttaálfurinn took hold of Robbie. “Have a seat, we don’t bite… Well, apart from Skuld,” he joked and grinned. His aunt made a disapproving noise. “Let me introduce you to everyone, since my son has no manners. Robbie, this is Àróra and Emil. This lovely lady is Hjördis, my wife. That’s Álfhild, Skuld and Tomás. Tell me now, how is LazyTown these days?”

Sportacus took the opportunity to follow Frída and passed by Íþró, who kept standing just outside the room with a pinched expression on his face.

Íþróttaálfurinn let out a roar of laughter at whatever Robbie had replied. “Sounds like it’s doing just fine then.”

 

That’s the last he heard before he closed the door behind him.

 

It was only the two of them now.

Frída sat down on the steps and leaned her shoulder against the railing, looking out over the terrain, the few houses in the distance that made out their village and further out beyond them, the sea. “So,” she said at last, “that’s him? It’s true then?”

“Yeah.” Sportacus joined her, resting his elbows upon his knees.

She didn’t say anything, just, nodded. The wind breezed through her ash blonde hair as she remained quiet. Her pointed ears glimpsed though and she pushed the loose shoulder length strands behind them.

“Frída…”

“I should be thankful that it happened like this,” she spoke again, “rather than finding out later on that I married a man who’s in love with someone else.”

“It’s a rather funny story, actually,” he nudged her as he tried to lighten up the mood.

She cast him a doubtful look and frowned.

“Ermh, I mean… He and I… There wasn’t anything between us, until now.”

This earned him a deeper frown.

He wasn’t making much sense, he knew that. He’d hoped that the hours of paddling had let him think things through, but once faced with the situation, he didn’t know what to say. His leg was bouncing restlessly.

“When we woke up and realized that you were gone and your father hurt… Sportacus, you don’t realize the chaos,” she said. “People thought that _you_ were behind this, despite that we all knew that you would _never_ hurt Number Nine, and, and then Íþró sent us his letter that it was confirmed, that that man who had yelled at us was _your lover_ …” She threw her hands out in front of her. “Help me out here, what am I to think about all this?!”

“Íþró was not entirely right, Frída. Robbie and I weren’t lovers until... This is very new.”

“ _How_ _new?_ ”

“Returning back west new?”

“Things like this don’t pop up out of nowhere, Sportacus!”

“I had feelings, but I didn’t act on them because I wanted to be faithful.” That sounded awful, he mentally kicked himself.

Frída hung her head. She sighed eventually, “I understand… More than well.”

“I’m sorry, I never wanted to hurt you, I just…” He rubbed his brow, how should he put this, without digging himself a deeper hole? “I wanted what I thought was right, what everyone wanted me to do.”

Hindsight truly was twenty-twenty. Basing his decisions on other’s expectations was never sound. His own parents had met very young and married as soon as they both were of legal age and it was nothing strange for their generation, it was the norm in fact. He guessed that they all had hoped that things would be the same between him and Frída, even he had. Íþró was right, their lifespan and isolation made it harder to break set paths and old norms.

Frída had grown tired of Sportacus’ fidgeting and placed a firm hand down on his restless knee. “I have mixed feelings about this… I think that we both agreed to this before we were ready… I agreed to this too, but I also love my work, I do, and I knew that this would get everyone off my back.”

“Is _that_ why you said yes?”

“I keep getting told that I’m in my fifties, that I’m not getting any younger… And, and you’re handsome and have always been kind, almost too kind, and I like you. I thought that… That _this_ would be good enough. That _we_ would be enough.”

“No Frída, _no_ , you never had to settle for me,” Sportacus gasped, “I thought that this was what _you_ truly wanted.”

She laughed, “I thought this was what you wanted too.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes and nose. “We are both horrible at this, aren’t we?” She bumped their shoulders together and giggled. “Trying to please other people.”

“I agree. Would you believe me, if I told you that he and I never would have gotten together if it hadn’t been for _our_ engagement in the first place?”

“I heard that he used to be your rival of sorts, but...? Really? That’s what took it?”

“That and Glanni Glæpur’s loose tongue, apparently,” he sighed. “You wrote in your letter that someone was still upset?”

“Emil and Àróra made a fuss. They show that they worry in their own way, but it’s a wonder that Íþróttaálfurinn is such a relaxed and lightsome person. They’re so different from your móðuramma Álfhild.”

“Don’t let the relaxed demeanour fool you.” Most of his father’s actions in the sitting room, for example, had been to lighten the animosity in the room and to calm Robbie down. It came with the profession of being a numbered hero.

“There’s still all the rest to sort out, you know. My parents now have a house that has to go to someone. You’re not getting off that easily.”

He chuckled. That was true.

Sportacus took a good look at her. She was beautiful and given time, if they had married, he might have come to love her in a romantic, or at least in a familiar way. But that would never come to be now. She wasn’t Robbie. Not what he desired and he, in turn, wasn’t what she wanted either.

He pulled her in for a hug and murmured, “wow, you’re amazing, thank you for putting up with all of this.”

“I’ll know you’ll make it up to me some day,” she said and wound her arms around him.

 

That he would.

 

“You know,” she smiled, “this would had been a rather classic romantic tale had it been-”

“Had it been other people?”

“Yes.”

 

They walked back inside arm in arm. She gave him one last hug around the middle before she re-joined his relatives on the couch. He caught the look on his cousin’s face at their exchange and he understood why they were there suddenly.

 

Good things came from the most unpredictable places.

 

He looked around the room. They were four people short compared to when he’d left them. There was a lack of gangly nervous men in the room, as well as Íþró, Emil and Àróra. “Where’s everyone? _Where_ _’s_ _Robbie?_ ”

Hjördis answered, sounding wry, “they snuck out the backdoor shortly after you left.” She tilted her head. “As for Robbie, he said that he needed to use the restroom and fled. He’s rather quick.”

“I must say, he’s also very… Polite? In a strange way,” Álfhild pointed out. The old woman pursed her lips and frowned, not sure of what to do with the tall man.

Sportacus chortled, that was Robbie alright. He was good with his _thank you_ _’s_ and _excuse me_ _’s_ , as he in the very same breath interchanged cynicism.

There was a muffled crash from upstairs followed by a ‘ _It wasn_ _’t me!_ ’ Sportacus shook his head and looked up to the ceiling. He should probably go and get him.

His mother spoke again, “Sportacus, _why didn_ _’t you tell us?_ ”

He should _definitely_ go get Robbie.

 

Sportacus found him in his old boy’s room, surrounded by the souvenirs and pictures he’d sent home from his journeys.

“Now I know why the blimp looks like a _Scandinavian Interior Design Magazine_. You’re as bad as the geezer, but you hoard all your stuff here instead.” Robbie chuckled and put down the framed picture of LazyTown and looked up at the large number of posters in the ceiling, most of them were of _Johnny B. Badd_. He frowned at the sight. “Why are there so many posters?”

“Somersault and backflip accidents.”

“Naturally. Why did I even bother?”, he grumbled. “Is it safe? The ceiling won’t crash down on us because of your flippity flopping, that you’ve tried, and failed by the way, to conceal with your teenage crush?”

He couldn’t help but grin large and wide at the man before him. “Are you hiding up here?” Sportacus now outright laughed and approached Robbie.

“ _Pshaw!_  No? I’m just getting over the shock of seeing so many blonde people in one and the same place, that’s all. You all look like a bunch of stereotypes. And you’re all so _active!_ ”

“If you say so.”

He trapped the taller man against the desk behind him. Sportacus’ plan was to tease him for a bit more, but Robbie threw his arms around his shoulders and kissed him hard. That was a nice alternative too. With ease he lifted Robbie up to sit on the desk and drew him in close, finding refuge between his thighs as he surged up to capture those thin lips again.

“I want you,” he whispered into his mouth before he delved in again. Robbie whimpered and he tore off the hat to bury his fingers in his hair, slipping his tongue into Sportacus mouth as he held his head in place, they both ignored the clatter of goggles hitting the floor. His heart was hammering in his chest and he tried to follow when Robbie pulled his mouth away from his.

Robbie was about to comply and dip back down when his eyes snapped up to beyond Sportacus and he sighed. He brushed his lips against his one last time, his breath ghosting torturously close as he spoke low, “as much as I want to desecrate your old boy room,” he pulled back completely and let his hands fall to his sides, “I think your dad would disapprove.”

Flustered, Sportacus turned around. His father was indeed standing by the entrance, clearing his throat.

 

This was becoming a bad habit.

 

“Son, can I have a word with you?”

“English,” he responded.

His eyes flicked between Sportacus and Robbie, and nodded. “Very well, I would like to have a word with you,” he said in English instead and smiled. “I hope you don’t mind, Robbie.”

“Sorry,” he mouthed at Robbie and followed Íþróttaálfurinn out.

 

“I don’t know how to approach the subject with you.” He stopped them halfway down the stairs. “Should I talk with you as your father, or as a colleague about this?”

Sportacus didn’t like it when his father spoke like this. It weirded him out. “As my father, please?”

“No, I think it’s better if I address this as your colleague first.” He sighed, “Sportacus, you’ve heard of the tale of the frog and the scorpion?”

“I have,” he replied dryly. Was he implying that Robbie would betray, or hurt him, given the chance?

Íþróttaálfurinn continued, “I’m not saying that it would happen voluntarily, from either of you. But, in our line of work, we want to save people, it’s more a calling than a profession and sometimes, it’s hard to draw the line where your work, _your drive to help_ , ends and where your private life begins.”

He frowned. “What are you saying?”

“Robbie, seems like a nice person, but I can’t help noticing that there are certain _issues_ and if I understand correctly from the letters you’ve written these past years…  Sportacus, I’ve seen many in similar circumstances getting caught in a bad relationship that ends up more as a caregiver and caretaker situation, rather than a healthy romantic bond.”

“He and I have already talked about our past and I _know_ that he has his own problems.” Robbie had issues, Sportacus couldn’t turn a blind eye to that. But, it was better to acknowledge that, and be patient and supportive if needed, rather than ignoring it, or as his father feared, make him into a personal salvation project. The man had made it this far on his own, he didn’t want to make Robbie dependent on him. Nor did he think that Robbie would want that either.

“I just want you to be careful.”

“Are you saying that as a colleague,” he tilted his head, “or as my father?”

“Both?” Íþróttaálfurinn smiled weakly.

“Didn’t you always say that I should follow my heart and everything would be alright?”

“I did say that… And I still stand by it. If you’re happy and sure about your choice, then that’s all I need to know.”

“I am, I truly am.” His features split into a grin.

 

“Are you two done talking about what a bad influence I am?” Robbie shouted from Sportacus’ old room.

Íþróttaálfurinn raised his brow in confusion. “I thought he didn’t speak Icelandic?”

“He doesn’t,” Sportacus chuckled.

“Shouldn’t you go check on that old geezer anyway?” Robbie carried on.

His father shook his head. “I’m guessing he means Íþró?”

“Yes, what was all that about anyway?” Sportacus inquired. First the exchange between Íþró and his grandparents and now they had disappeared outside?

“I don’t know where to begin, if I am to be honest. It doesn’t really concern you anyway. It’s just a bunch of old people finding new ways to drag up ancient grudges. Íþró has a tendency to speak his mind, whether anyone likes it or not.”

Robbie stuck his head out of the doorway. “Seriously? I am no expert in healthy family relations, but _someone_ ,” meaning Íþróttaálfurinn, “should go and make sure no one’s dead.”

Íþróttaálfurinn nodded for Sportacus to re-join Robbie and walked down the stairs to look for his parents and the former hero.

“I didn’t think you were that protective of _the old geezer?_ ” Sportacus teased.

“I’m not,” Robbie sniffed. “I merely think that someone should look out for gramps. Not me, obviously.”

“Sorry?”

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything?”

“Okay...?” Sportacus said, eyeing Robbie, not entirely sure what to make of him.

“Do you think if we made out like two teenagers in front of everyone, then people would stop walking in and ruin our fun?”

Sportacus doubted it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is such a frustrating language with maternal and paternal everywhere, irk!  
> Móðuramma, for example, maternal grandmother. Easy distinction with just one word. But, noouh!!!


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the calm after the storm and Robbie finds time to overthink things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter did not want to get written...

Robbie figured that it was past two in the morning now, he rubbed his eyes in frustration and flopped onto his back on the mattress on the floor. He’d squirmed out of the narrow bed some time ago, seen as he felt restless and he didn’t need to bother Sportacus with his fidgeting.

Just lie down, close your eyes and relax, and sleep would come to him.

_A ha. Hah!_

_Not_ how insomnia worked.

He couldn’t explain to Sportacus that shutting his brain off like that just wasn’t in his matrix. In fact, it was around night time that he felt the most inspired. Not to speak of that there was no one around to bother him. Robbie had been lucky to have been able to sleep for two nights in a row, both being induced by exhaustion.

This day had been trying on his nerves and left him frazzled in another way, however. He felt on edge and paranoid.

 

Meeting the man’s family had been… Disconcerting, to say the least.

 

He thought back to when Sportacus had abandoned Robbie to fend for himself, no less than _five minutes_ after they had arrived! He still needed to get back at him for that.

 

The cup of tea in his hands was more honey, the only sweet thing in the household to his dismay, than yucky leaf water. The china shook in his trembling hands as he had to answer inane questions on how his hometown was fairing, how Milford was, and other trivial things that made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

Any second now someone should jump up and shout ‘ _Psych!_ ’, and then it’d be ‘ _Next stop;_ _Mob justice-ville’_ for Robbie.

Robbie’s obvious agitation had Number Nine concerned.

“I assure you Robbie, we’re not going to hurt you,” he had tried to convince him. His wife had nodded and offered him another plate of carrot sticks.

He reluctantly took one and pretended to eat it, hiding it in the sleeve of his shirt. “Pardon me, but… Why have I not been dunked in tar and feathers already? Are you saving that for later?”

Sportacus’ aunt had said something in their native language at that, something not nice, judging by the scolding tone coming from his mother and grandmother.

“I wrote them a letter explaining about Glanni after I had picked you up,” Íþró said from his perch by the entrance.

Íþróttaálfurinn hummed in confirmation, “we’ll discuss that later. Some of that is reserved for a more private setting,” and eyed his in-laws at that.

So, the old geezer must have forwarded that Robbie was just another one of Glanni’s victims. Then why the hell was he still getting the ultimate death glare?

The corner of the room was giving off some pretty bad vibes and made the hair on Robbie’s neck stand on end.

Sportacus' paternal grandma was scary as hell. After what Sportacus had told him, he had been expecting to fear Emil, but no, _she_ was the real danger. The old dark man’s gaze was one of displeasure, but it was timid compared to the silent storm of his wife’s.

Was he afraid of a tiny old lady?

Yes, yes, he was. She looked as scary as her grandchild did when he was angry, with the same icy stare that could kill. Yikes. She hadn’t said another word after Sportacus had run off with his former fiancée.

Robbie reached for the pot of honey and noted something interesting.

They weren’t glaring at him per se.

He whipped his head to look over his shoulder.

Oh.

 _Ooh_.

The old geezer didn’t look all too happy either.

Apparently, they had decided to shoot the messenger instead.

Fabulous.

Would Íþró just step into the room already, rather than hoover just outside like a bad omen?! He could at the very least move one foot to the side _so that Robbie wasn_ _’t caught in the damn crossfire_ from the glares coming from the opposite corner?

“Do you plan on having a stare off all day, or should we get you three a room to work out whatever you have going on?” he said offhandedly while he added another spoonful of honey to his cup.

This made them react. Number Nine blinked and looked sheepish, the embarrassed expression was all too familiar. He said something in their native tongue, inciting a retort from his father and a snort from Íþró.

“Not everything is about you, Emil,” he said in English for Robbie to understand.

That was not the right thing to do apparently, seen as the other elderly man rose to his feet.

Robbie should probably get out of the way. Probably. A part of him wanted to see where this was going.

It was Hjördis who saved the day, he didn’t have the foggiest what she said, but it did the trick, as the three golden oldies shared looks and nodded.

Àróra patted down her skirt and rose to her feet as well. “She is right,” she said in English. So, she did speak it as well then. She cast Robbie one last look, her face somewhat softening and a small smile played on her lips.

Nope, he was still terrified of her.

She left the room through the other doorway and her husband followed without having to be told so.

Robbie jolted in surprise at the heavy hand on his shoulder. “See you later, Robbie. Do try to stay out of trouble.” Íþró smiled down at him and exited the room through the same way as the others had, leaving Robbie with the same kind of feeling of abandonment like the first day of kindergarten. Or so he figured, if he’d actually gone to one.

The guy named Tomás coughed into his fist again.

 _Awkward_.

“So, Robbie. Tell us more about yourself,” Sportacus' more amicable grandmother implored him.

Okay, this was too much.

He put his cup down. “Eeh… I’m sorry, but I think that I need to use the restroom, if you’d excuse me.” Robbie didn’t even ask for directions when he briskly walked out of the sitting room and away from the overbearing crowd.

 

That had been _fun_ …

 

Maybe he could exact vengeance by using his Johnny B. Badd disguise on Sportacus, he wondered and tugged the blanket off himself. Robbie sighed and crawled to where he’d folded his clothes to extract two photographs out of his breast pocket. He laid on his stomach under the stream of light seeping through beneath the pulldown to the window. He put them side by side in front of him. Using Sportacus’ baby photos had been an excellent decoy to draw attention from him sneaking these into a pocket. One of them was of Number Nine, sometime when he was around the same age as his son's current was. The other… Left him a little more befuddled. It had been among the photos at the very beginning of the album. This picture was yellowed by light exposure and age, but the overall quality was still good.

He’d had his suspicions when he’d gone through the album the previous evening. But, after the weird interactions today, he was pretty convinced that he wasn’t completely delusional.

The man in the photo was smiling at something to his side, just out of picture, his hands on his waist in that typical _hero stance_. At first glance he’d thought that it had been a photo of Number Nine that had been placed in the wrong order. But, when he’d taken the photo and flipped to its backside looking for clues, his mind had boggled at the date of year scribbled on the backside; ‘ _1874_ ’ it read.

 

Robbie might have troubles with grasping the bigger picture or think that extra step on what the consequences of his actions might be, but he had always had an eye for details. He prided himself in it. The fine details in how people walked, talked, the subtle freckles and blemishes. It was the real secret to how he tailored his disguises in the first place.

His eyes followed the familiar profile of the jawline, the nose and shape of the eyes. It could be a great uncle or other relative, but his gaze had been drawn to a specific object, that debunked that theory.

 

Sportacus treated his crystal as if the annoying pebble was a religious relic or something, meanwhile his father had it dangling from his hat like a glorified pom-pom. And Íþró was no better, having stuffed the damn thing in a bell sown onto his own ugly tail cap.

And that was what he had caught his eye.

 

From the tail of the young man’s hat, who was the spitting image of the sleeping man in the bed by him, dangled a sleigh bell.

 

That sneaky old goat.

 

Not family by blood. Yeah right. Someone here wasn’t telling the truth and Robbie highly doubted that it was Sportacus who was the culprit.

He stuffed them back into the breast pocket and laid down on his back, staring up into the ceiling.

Despite Sportacus’ claims that the old rock idol was _not_ his teenage crush, that was _a lot_ of different images of good ol’ Johnny.

He knit his brow and worried his lip.

As he’d said; math wasn’t his forte, but he could damn well put two and two together. Sportacus’ grandfather was tall and dark. Íþróttaálfurinn was short, dense and fair, and did in general look nothing like his father.

There was the off chance that Àróra’s side of the family was full of short, broad-shouldered men. But, he highly doubted that.

Three generations of heroes.

 

Or maybe he was just looking for something to obsess over in a vain attempt of occupying his mind with something else that wasn’t… Whatever Sportacus and he had gotten themselves into. He should probably leave it be. Ignorance was bliss after all.

This was of none of his concerns anyway and if he was wrong and had his mouth flapping… It was not worth raising hell over. Robbie wanted Sportacus to trust him. He’d promised that he would not hurt him ever again, and if he was wrong, he would get accused of manipulating, trying to create discord and ultimately breaking that trust. If he was right… Well, people kept these kinds of things secret for a reason.

The creepy stare of the many images of Johnny B. Badd wasn’t of much help to him and certainly wasn’t providing him with any hidden wisdom, so he settled onto his side to look up at Sportacus instead, that was a much nicer distraction rather than thinking if he was creating issues when there probably was none.

Sportacus preferred to sleep on his stomach and was a hugger. If he wasn’t hugging Robbie, he would latch onto a blanket, or the pillow, as he was now. He had his face buried into it, half of his features obscured, the other half that was in view looked squished up, but content with a small smile on his lips. He looked absolutely ridiculous. And adorable, that no grown man should have the right to.

Robbie wasn’t good with intimacy. He had two settings; _Hermit_ and _Full-frontal Attack_. This middle ground of touches and caresses was completely uncharted territory for him. Sportacus might start to think that he wasn’t interested in him more than as a bed partner. That wasn’t the truth, far from it in fact. He just… Didn’t know how to initiate signs of affection unless it was with sexual intent.

Did he love Sportacus? He hadn’t been sure at the beginning. He had grown to care for the man and he was undeniably physically attracted to him. Now, after this screaming roller coaster, he was a bit surer on how he felt.

“I love you,” he murmured in the dark silent room.

Sportacus' pointed ear flicked slightly at the noise, but stayed asleep, if anything, he burrowed his face deeper into the bolster and made a small sound that went straight to Robbie’s heart.

He wasn’t ready to say it out loud to a conscious recipient, much less only days after they had gotten together. They weren’t even official _anything_ yet _._ Lovers? Yes. Partners? Eeehhhh. Boyfriends? Double eeehhhh.

First thing on his agenda; learn how to show that he appreciated him, before he said anything prematurely and end up freaking his partner, -okay he could work with that term, out.

 

He’d managed to doze off shortly before what passed as dawn in this weird country where the sun was ever present, and woke up again feeling nauseous and dizzy next to an empty bed.

He had awoken to the noise of voices coming from downstairs through the open door, Robbie groaned and turned into the blanket.

Probably checking up on him, he heard Sportacus’ voice somewhere by the foot of the mattress, “are you awake?”

Unfortunately so. “No,” he moaned into his pillow, “leave me be.”

“Okay, Robbie,” was a disembodied chuckle and a caress over his neck before he was alone again to fall asleep.

 

“Robbie?” Sportacus shook his shoulder.

“Hnngh?” Robbie swatted at him.

“It’s noon, you need to get up.”

“That early?”

Sportacus laughed and pulled the blanket off him. “My father and Íþró wants to talk with you.”

Robbie woke up fully. “I didn’t do anything.”

“No, no,” he placated him, “It’s about Glanni and the canister.”

“Urgh.” Naturally. “Fine, _fine_ , I’m coming. Give me a second to get dressed.”

 

Robbie found himself once again in the sitting room, this time sitting cross-legged in an arm chair and nursing the whole pot of honey in his hands. A small improvement from yesterday. The canister with Glanni’s concoction was placed on the table separating the men in the room, its metallic cover glinting in the light.

“So, this is what did it?” Íþróttaálfurinn stated more than asked.

“Yup,” Robbie said between spoonsful of honey. “It’s airborne pure glucose with a healthy addition of sedative for that extra kick… And evil flowers. So, yeah; SIC.

“What?” Sportacus asked. He looked fidgety, more so than usual.

He shrugged. “It’s what Glanni calls it,  _Sugar Induced Coma._ I might have helped him with the title.”

All three elves levelled him with a stare. Wow, though crowd. And the similar expression on their faces didn’t help with snuffing out Robbie’s theory about kinship.

Íþróttaálfurinn spoke again, “there have been no reports of Glanni being sighted since you parted ways. Not from the humans, or from our sources.” He absently touched his side. Robbie had noticed it. Number Nine was playing down the extent of his injuries, either not to seem weak, or not to worry Sportacus. “I fear that we made a mistake in letting him go.”

‘ _Major understatement_ ,’ Robbie thought. “Don’t you have a homeland security of some kind, some policing unit, or something to track him down?” he asked.

Íþró snorted, and pointed to Number Nine and Sportacus, “you’re looking at it.”

Robbie looked between them. “What’s the complete opposite feeling of reassured? Cause I’m getting that big time.”

“Thank you, Robbie,” Sportacus huffed.

“I’ve seen you handle situations, excuse me if I doubt.”

“We police our own. The humans are their own problem,” Íþróttaálfurinn explained with a shrug.

“And ‘ _demi_ _’s_ ’ like me?” he did air quotes with his hands at that.

“Well, I suggest that you start behaving,” Íþró jested, at least Robbie hoped he did.

“Jokes aside,” Number Nine said, “Glanni now knows how to incapacitate us and has the means to do so, that makes him extremely dangerous to our people. And if Glanni is part giant as well, that makes him that much more of a threat. He’s only one quarter, but he appears to master _allure_ to bolster his skills as a manipulator.”

“Good thing that the thought has never crossed his mind to start a cult,” Robbie drawled and scraped the bottom of the jar for the last morsels.

“He nearly did,” Number Nine dead panned.

“Say what?” He blinked owlishly.

“It must be over twenty years ago now, but Glanni managed to brainwash a whole village and take it over in a coup, successfully exiling and abolishing its officials. Now that we know _what_ he is, it’s less of a mystery of  _how_ he did it.” The elf pressed his lips into a thin angry line before he continued with, “we discovered that Glanni had cut off all supplies, destroyed the harvest, poisoned the residents to sell the antidote to further manipulate them into believing him being their savior and making the village completely dependent on him and his own supplies. He made them turn on each other, imprisoned their children and forced the other adolescents into slavery. All of this,” Íþróttaálfurinn spat, “just to make a profit.”

Robbie gaped in horror. That was a hell of a lot more than he’d anticipated. He thought of the townspeople back in LazyTown, of how gullible and susceptible they were. If Glanni _ever_ set foot in LazyTown, he would find himself on the receiving end of a loaded cannon. And Robbie would not hold back.

“As it is, Glanni can’t stay hidden forever and we have the concoction. I’ll bring it to the court for our experts to look at.”

Robbie swallowed. “What about me?” He had a feeling that said _experts_ wanted to have a chat with him as well.

Sportacus took the empty jar from him and smiled tenderly, “don’t worry, Robbie.”

“All you’re guilty of is a loose tongue. It would be wise to keep all knowledge of us to yourself from here on.”

Great. More secrets.

“That goes for the both of you,” Íþróttaálfurinn added and gave his son a pointed look.

Sportacus winced.

Right, because Robbie must have found out from somewhere. Sportacus blabbed to the children and indirectly to Robbie, who in turn blabbed to Glanni. No wonder Sportacus was tense, he was feeling guilty. ‘ _That soft-hearted dunce,’_ he thought wryly, ‘ _taking responsibility despite everything.’_

 

“Well, now that that’s settled, I think I need some fresh air. Sportacus, do you need some fresh air? You look like you need some fresh air. You definitely need some fresh air, “he prattled and grabbed him by the hand to drag the youngest martyr in the room outside. Leaving the older elves behind to figure out their next move on their own.

 

“Robbie?” he asked when they finally were outside and a good distance away from the building.

“How come”, he started, “that I’m the one that brought the psycho with me, but _you_ _’re_ the one that’s feeling guilty?” His own sense of guilt went without saying.

“Sportacus blinked. “I… How?”

“Awful poker face, remember?” He shifted his grip on his hand to intertwine their fingers and sighed. Show casual affection, he could do that. “It’s out of our hands, don’t dwell on it,” Robbie grimaced, “it’s way too much effort put into it and it’s exhausting. No, I think we need a new distraction.”

“What did you have in mind?” Sportacus smirked.

“You could show me your old stomping grounds, while we’re still out here.”

Once again, Sportacus looked surprised with him. “I guess so? If we stay within the village’s borders, or I can go back inside to get my hat and we can venture further out.”

“Nah,” he stopped him, he didn’t feel like a long walk, he never did, besides… “I like your unruly mop of hair.”

Sportacus pursed his lips and frowned slightly.

“What? Did I say something wrong?” He racked his brain, trying to pinpoint where their conversation had gone awry.

“No, it’s just… You haven’t mentioned my ears once. It’s usually the first thing to get brought up.”

Robbie laughed and tugged Sportacus with him to walk by his side. “They’re pointy. What else?” He teased, “but, if you do want to continue. Your ears twitch, along with your mustache, when you’re thinking very hard on something.”

“I do not,” Sportacus protested with a laugh.

“Do too! You look like a woodland critter, thinking of where he can get his next hit of sportscandy!”

“You are the worst,” he laughed even harder.

“And don’t you forget that,” he smiled and leaned down to kiss him.

 

He should have brought his coat, Robbie lamented to himself for the umpteenth time. It was rather cold outside and Sportacus had not been exaggerating about the amount of sea birds.

“Robbie?”

“Yeah,” he said and glared at a tern screeching at them from a distance.

“Let’s go home.”

“Already? I’m fed up with these birds too, but sure we can go back inside.”

“No, I mean, let’s go _home_ , to LazyTown.”

“Oohh, yes, gotcha. But… What about, you know, clean up duty?”

Sportacus snorted. “It’s been taken care of. Expenses, everything, more or less, and Frída gets the house.”

“Sorry? House?”

“Uhm, yes," Sportacus ducked his head, “it was her family’s to begin with. She comes from a _very_ wealthy upbringing.”

Robbie laughed, “is that so?” He snaked his arm around his back. “I think I can compete with that,” he said and they began walking back in the direction of Sportacus’ parents’ house. “Yes. Let’s do that.”

“Great! I’ll tell them right after dinner.”

“Please don’t force me to eat more lamb, it’s barbaric! I don’t understand how you can nurse them, care for them and then _eat_ _them!_ ”

“At least it is known that the lamb has had a good life. But, there’s always more cured salmon if you prefer that.”

“Urgh. The things I do for love.”

“What?”

“What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be the last one. 
> 
> About Íþró... I'm probably gonna write a sequel to sort things out. A lot of things. There's a whole lot more of Nordic mythos and Glæpur shenanigans I want to delve into.


	29. Chapter 29. Curtain Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home is where your heart is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a journey, truly. 
> 
> Also, this was supposed to be a short chapter, but ended up being one of the longest...

“Robbie?” Sportacus’ insistant voice brought him out of the sweet, sweet embrace of sleep.

“Nouh, awhay withyehh,” he slurred and turned into the pillow.

Sportacus snorted and kept nudging him, without much luck. Robbie was settling in nicely once again, when the other man had given up and flipped him off the bed and onto the mattress on the floor below.

Robbie bounced with a muffled shriek behind Sportacus’ calloused hand covering his mouth.

“What’s gotten into you?” Robbie hissed when he’d wrangled himself free.

He grinned back at him and whispered, “we’re leaving.”

Something told Robbie that it wasn’t noon just yet. “What time is it?” he asked while he rubbed his hands over his face and dug out remnants of mascara stuck in the corners of his eyes he’d failed to wash off properly.

“Four-twenty.”

Robbie flopped down. “No, not gonna happen.” He didn’t need to see Sportacus. He _knew_ that his lover was rolling his eyes at him. “Besides, didn’t we agree that we’d leave in the afternoon?”

“I’d like to get a head start.”

He tilted his head back against the mattress with a thump. “Of course you do.”

“I’ve already loaded the blimp, everything is ready to go.”

Robbie grunted and stretched out on top of the mattress, catching Sportacus’ gaze following the length of his body put on display, before the elf shook his head and blinked, setting his eyes anywhere but at him. Robbie smiled and looked straight up, only to meet eyes with Johnny. The mood instantly killed.

“Okay, okay, I’m up. I hate it, but I’m up.” He clambered up to a sitting position.

“You can sleep in the airship, you know.”

“Well, why didn’t you just say so?” Surely, he could move from one bed to another.

 

“Is he up yet?” A tap on the door had both of the men in the bedroom jolt.

 

“Lemme get dressed.” Robbie scrabbled for his clothes to cover his private bits.

“Frændi?”

“It’s sure not Skröggur,” the elder replied dryly from the other side of the door. “Íþróttaálfurinn is waiting for you outside.”

“So much for eloping, huh?” Robbie laughed and wrangled his high waist pants on. Sportacus was pouting at him. Robbie grinned at the display. Ah well, the thought behind it was… Romantic, he supposed, minus the absurd hour. He yawned big and wide.

 

Íþró looked like the pure embodiment of smug when Sportacus opened the door. “ _G_ _óðan daginn, str_ _ákar_ ,” he smiled behind his beard.

Were all elves this chipper in the before-true dawn, or was it just Robbie’s luck?

“Morning,” Sportacus replied with a shamefaced expression, that got him a snort from his uncle at the sight.

Íþró looked beyond the younger elf, towards Robbie. “Slept well?”

Robbie pulled a displeased face and grunted in reply as he continued to button up his west. Sportacus must have already taken the suitcases to the blimp he noted. His toiletries were in them, so now he had to endure interactions looking like he rolled out of a refuse heap with his hair sticking out in odd angles and morning breath. Au Naturale Robbie Rotten, _watch out world_. “Are we going, or not?” he asked. Number Nine was apparently waiting for them. Otherwise, Robbie was going to lie face down on the bed again and try to get reacquainted with slumber.

Íþró stepped to the side to let them pass. “There are supplies for you as well waiting.”

“The airship already has a fresh supply of Sportscandy to last us,” Sportacus protested.

The old man frowned. “Apples aren’t food, strákur.”

“Hear, hear,” Robbie concurred from the top of the stairs and followed their descent.

“Hjördis packed leftovers from the reception for you last night. We have enough to feed the island.”

The gratification Robbie felt deflated. “No, no more, please.” If he had to eat one more scrap of the elves home cooking, he’d scream.

“It’s that, or fruits.”

Somewhat hopeful he asked, “do we have any more honey?”

“You’ve already eaten all there was in the house,” Sportacus answered.

“Bahw,” he complained. A true injustice thrust upon him this was indeed.

 

True to the old geezer’s word, Íþróttaálfurinn was waiting for them outside the house. 

“Good morning, boys,” he grinned at them.

“Morning, pabbi.”

Robbie was idly wondering if there were any other family members lurking around to say their farewells. He wouldn’t be all too surprised if that was the case.

“I knew you were up to something when I discovered that you’ve already found and taken the crystal,” he said and nodded to the casing on Sportacus’ chest. He in turn absentmindedly thumbed it at the mention and smiled sheepishly. “And you had that look, that you were up to no good, all yesterday evening.”

Robbie fought the temptation to chip in once again on how transparent Sportacus’ face was.

 

“Tell mamma, that I’m sorry that we left for LazyTown so shortly after getting here.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her, she’ll understand. Besides,” he raised a brow and cocked his hip, “you two were ready to run off without _anyone_ knowing.”

Sportacus laughed nervously. Robbie just snorted in amusement.

 

“ _Don_ _’t bother!_ ”

 

They looked up to see Hjördis by one of the upper floor windows.

Robbie was right after all. Now all that was missing was the extended family.

“You better come visit for the End of Harvest festivities, or I’m sending Skuld to fetch you!” she berated Sportacus, who in turn ducked his head in defeat.

All three elves outside the house made wry faces. Ah, so Robbie’s first impression of the aunt was correct then.

“I will, mamma!” Sportacus shouted back.

“When’s that?” Robbie asked him out of the side of his mouth.

“A little more than two months.”

“Too soon. Don’t bring me.”

“You too, Robbie!” the older woman announced to his dread.

Damn.

Sportacus said something in Icelandic to his mother and after what Robbie presumed was an exchange of fare-thee-wells she closed the window.

 

“It’s been a trip, please don’t repeat it,” Íþró said and dunked Robbie’s back hard enough to nearly send him flailing to the ground, only saved from kissing it by the sturdy hands of Sportacus’ catching him while the other elves laughed.

“Trust me,” he wheezed, “I’m not planning to.” This was one hell of an adventure he was not keen on experiencing again.

Sportacus steadied Robbie upright and let go to get the supplies that his father had for them.

Their exchange was quick, and they spoke in low voices, followed by a hug and that was that, his uncle got the same treatment. “Take care,” he said to them both.

He carried up the backpack they’d been given and disappeared inside the flying death trap, that Robbie was for once glad to go onboard on.

He turned to the two older elves behind him. “Is this the part where I say goodbye and solemnly swear to repent, or what?”

“Nei.” Íþró stroked his beard. “Make sure that strákur eats more than just _sportscandy_ and we’re good.” He winked and smiled.

“I can do that.” As long as Robbie didn’t have to eat any of this health stuff, he was good.

“I think I should tell you something,” Number Nine said and cast a glance up to the blimp for his son. “Also, you-”

“Yes, yes,” Robbie waved his hands before him, “I’ll treat him _right_. And I won’t feed him after midnight and I’ll remember to keep him out of direct sunlight. What else?”

Íþró tilted his head in confusion, his younger namesake by his side smiled and shook his head. At least one of the older generations was versed in pop culture.

“No,” Íþróttaálfurinn continued, “I was going to say; don’t let my son behind the wheel of anything that’s not of our tech.”

Now Robbie was the one doing the impression of a confused owl. “What, what?”

“The blimp, and additional transportations equipped, all have an installed speed limit for a good reason.”

He blanched. “They _what?!_ ” It sure hadn’t come to his attention that the blasted airship could go even faster!

“My son likes to push his limits, that unfortunately extends to vehicles. The number he went through when he took his license was… Astonishing.”

“Oh dear…”

“Essentially,” Íþróttaálfurinn voiced with a nod.

“Everything is ready,” Sportacus announced from above them, “I’ve switched the ship’s interior interface to voice command only, you can come on up, Robbie!”

Robbie stared at the rope ladder. “Uhm, how about you lower the ship instead?”

“Come on. Grab onto the ladder and I’ll pull you up with it!”

“You got to be kidding me,” he groaned.

 

Robbie was just about to do as instructed and send out a silent prayer for whoever would listen to his lament, when he remembered something.

“Old man,” he said and fished up the pictures out of his breast pocket, “I believe these are yours.” And handed them over downturned so Number Nine wouldn’t see what they were of.

Íþró took and flipped them over to look upon them. Robbie studied his face closely for his reaction.

There. A downturn of his mouth and a frown as he flicked his eyes up to Robbie’s and back down to the pictures.

The elder pocketed them. “Thank you,” he said, his voice cool.

“No problem.” he smiled, putting on an innocent mask as Íþró gave him an incredulous look.

Robbie wouldn’t say anything, but now at least, he had his suspicions confirmed.

 

“Are you coming, Robbie?” Sportacus’ disembodied voice sounded.

“Coming, Sportapushy! Goodbye to you, it’s been… Yeah, no, this hasn’t been swell. Sorry, for everything, though.”

Íþróttaálfurinn smiled at him. “If you hear anything about your brother’s whereabouts, let us know. Bye, Robbie, tell Milford and Bessie I said hi.”

“Sure thing.” With that he grabbed the rungs of the rope ladder.

 

He wouldn’t call his shrill scream girly and would deny so until his dying day, which would be sooner rather than later, if Sportacus kept this up. Robbie had barely gotten air into his lungs when Sportacus had tugged the ladder up with such force and speed that he’d found himself bounced in his arms in less than three red seconds.

He blew a raspberry at the laughing duo on the ground. The old geezer was steading himself on his knees and laughing himself to the brink of tears, while Íþróttaálfurinn laughed to what extent his injuries allowed him to.

“Sorry.” Sportacus grinned at him and took them inside.

“No, you’re not.”

The man smiled wider and put him down to wave out the still open door.

The bed was already unfolded from the wall and Robbie didn’t waste time throwing himself on top of the crispy white bolster. The sound of the door closing signalled for Robbie to fully relax again. “Take us far away from here,” he groaned into the pillow, his voice muffled, he turned onto his back and rested up on his elbows to look at Sportacus. “Come here.”

“I can’t be on the bed with you and steer at the same time.”

Robbie pouted and Sportacus gave in. Long enough to give him a small kiss before he straightened up again and adjusted his hat.

Robbie tilted his head. “Could you skip the hat,” he asked, “until we arrive at LazyTown?”

“I guess so.” He took off his blue hat and folded it in his hands. “But, why?”

“I like seeing you without it, is all,” he said and shrugged with a small smile. _Loved_ seeing him without it. But, he wouldn’t say it out loud, it was too dopey.

The other raised an eyebrow, but complied. “No shoes in the bed.” He got to the pilot seat with a somersault. Robbie grumbled and rolled his eyes at the display.

 

He should be freaking out over being up in the air in this very crash-able blimp. Especially after what Number Nine had told him about Sportacus’ driving. He could properly freak out after a nap he supposed. And napped he did, letting the distant offkey humming from Sportacus lull him in.

 

Waking up a couple of hours later, he found himself utterly bored and he voiced so.

“There are books if you want to read.”

With another voice command, the messiest bookshelf Robbie had ever seen came into view.

Nibbling on a block of cheese he’d found in the rucksack, he began leafing through the books. An English lexicon, a couple of books in English as well, in a simpler parlance than a native speaker like Robbie would normally read. A couple of Icelandic ones and… Something else that looked like Icelandic but wasn’t quite the same.

“What are these?”

“Books?”

“Hardi harr,” Robbie dead panned. He took a pile of books and a pillow, and slowly crept to the front of Sportacus’ quarters. He waved one of the odd books for him to see, while he himself was pointedly looking down at the floor and not out the large bay windows.

“Oh, _those_ books. It’s Danish,” he grinned up at him.

“You speak it?”

“Poorly. I understand it better than I talk.”

“Does the same go for English?”

Sportacus only shrugged with a lopsided smile. “A little better, I suppose.”

Robbie hummed and sat down on the floor behind the seat and leaned his back against it with the pillow for more comfort.

“Aren’t you afraid of heights?” Sportacus asked from behind him.

“Do _not_ remind me,” he grumbled. “I trust you not to fly us into the side of a mountain, or crash into the sea, despite what your dad told me of your track record of driving.”

Sportacus groaned loudly, “he told you that, did he?”

“Yup,” Robbie teased and took another small bite of the cheese. “How many did you total?”

He didn’t get a reply to that, instead the other man changed the subject. “You’re missing quite the view, you know.”

“We’re both better off if I don’t look.” Despite this claim, Robbie’s bad self-control had him curiously lean to the side and peer over the backrest of the pilot seat. With a squeak he turned back. “I looked, are you happy now?!” He’d caught an eyeful of sky and a vast landscape of mountains far, _far,_ below them.

Sportacus laughed and kept paddling.

 

The sunset colored the white walls of the interior in a warm orange and red glow, Robbie was glad to experience the sun moving as it should again.

The motor quieted down and Sportacus jumped out of the seat to stretch in front of Robbie. A welcome sight after only hearing his voice for the past hours and the occasional hand holding, until the angle became too uncomfortable.

“Why are we stopping, are we already there?”

“No, but I think we’ve made enough progress for one day.” Sportacus smiled mischievously down at Robbie and sat down to straddle him. He threw the book Robbie had been reading to the side.

 

Robbie could definitely sacrifice travelling time for _this_.

 

“I’ve done it, Robbie grinned and let his hands travel up those firm exquisite thighs, “I’ve finally tamed the notorious speed demon.”

Sportacus rolled his eyes and was about to retort, but Robbie silenced him in his new favorite way and pulled his partner close.

 

Partner. Yes, he liked the sound of that.

 

They arrived to LazyTown around noon the following day. Sportacus was practically buzzing with excitement while Robbie watched the elf bounce and flip around the blimp to ready their descent with lax amusement.

A crowd of people had gathered below the blimp as it descended enough for Robbie to be somewhat willing to get out. The town looked intact enough compared to when he’d left. He made a mental tally; all the children were accounted for and Bessie was holding what looked like five phones simultaneously, and, not too surprising really, their Mayor was sporting an arm cast.

Sportacus literally threw himself out the door, leaving Robbie to get down by his own means. They needed to work on this. Starting off with; not abandoning Robbie on whims!

There was a chorus of excited voices all around them when he’d made his slow descend down the ladder, by screwing his eyes shut and taking one step down the rungs one by one.

They had attracted the whole town it would seem. He spotted Sportacus, and a late-night nature documentary of lions taking down a gnu came to Robbie’s mind, as Sportacus got overwhelmed by excited screaming kids.

“Sportacus, you’re back!” they cried out as one. “You’re really back!”

“And Robbie is back too! Did _he_ bring you back!?”

Robbie edged the group to get closer to Sportacus.

The man was laughing, “yes, I’m back, I’ve missed you guys.” There was pure naked joy on his face and his eyes were glassy as he tried to hug them back. “I’ve missed you all.” Tears began to form and roll down his rosy cheeks.

The group embracing him got worried over the unusual display.

“Sportacus, are you crying?”

“Did something happen?”

The kids were babbling over each other and tried to console their beloved hero.

He shook his head and laughed as more tears kept spilling from his eyes.

Robbie felt his whole chest warm and expand at the sight. He ploughed through towards him, pulled the shorter man in into a one-armed hug draping over his shoulders so he could kiss his temple. Earning them gasps and cheers from below them. “Welcome home, Sportalove,” he mumbled into his ear. Sportacus hiccupped.

Bessie gasped at the display and exclaimed, “I knew it!”

“Knew what?” Milford, ever so oblivious, said in confusion.

 

Robbie paid them little mind.

 

“Thank you for bringing him back!” That was Robbie’s only warning before he too got swarmed from his waist and below.

“You were gone too, and we were worried! Thank you, Robbie!”

“We missed you,” Ziggy sniffed and clutched to him.

The gremlins had been worried over and missed _him?_

He felt his own waterworks start up. “Okay stop, it’s bad enough that Sportacry is bawling!” He tried to escape with little to no avail and Sportacus chuckled by his side, as he too put his arm around Robbie’s back.

“We’re home,” he said and nuzzled his neck.

 

Robbie knew that he had forgotten about _something_ and he was now swearing a long chant of foul words when Sportacus entered his lair three weeks later.

“Has something happened?” Sportacus asked, worry painting his face.

He waved two envelopes angrily and seethed, “I forgot the damn rental from hell!”

“The what? Robbie, please calm down.”

He fell back into his chair. “The car that Glanni ran off with?” The other nodded. “Yes, well. I never reported it stolen, or paid compensation.” Robbie saw the implications dawn on him.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Nah, but thanks. I got this. Urgh, even across the globe Glanni is a pain in the neck.” He showed him the other envelope.

“Is that…?”

“Yes, yes, it is.” He handed it over for Sportacus to read. It didn’t say much, only;

_No hard feelings_.

_xo_

_G.G_

 

Sportacus turned it in his hands. “The stamp is Norwegian,” he stated. “Is your brother driving a stolen car through northern Europe?”

“Doubtfully. He probably sold the wretched thing for scraps.”

“I’ll send a letter to my father and I’ll see what I can do about the situation with the rental.”

“I told you, you don’t have to-”

“Let me, Robbie. You don’t have to deal with this alone,” he said with a smile and pocketed the letter, before he leaned down to brace himself with one hand on the armrest and the other to cup Robbie’s face, and continued, “ _not anymore_.”

“I... Alright. Thank you.”

Sportacus stroked his cheek and kissed him before he withdrew. “I came down to ask if you wanted to join me topside?”

“Depends,” he licked his lips, relishing in the look on Sportacus’ face when his eyes followed the action, “is that harpy still sniffing around?”

“You can’t hide from Bessie forever, Robbie,” he sighed. Easy for him to say, unlike the elf, Robbie couldn't outrun her.

“Yes, I can. No one appreciates my genius of dealing with that nosy woman.”

“You squirted vinegar at her with a spray bottle.”

“And so, I’m staying here until she goes away on her own. She’s more intrusive than Pinkie.” Stephanie’s fervent attempts of arranging official date-nights for the couple was driving Robbie up the wall. Why change something that worked out for them both? Although… One candle lit dinner wouldn’t hurt. They’ve already hung out in the park the other day. Robbie was still struggling with displays of affection, not sure when, or how much, was acceptable just yet, but maybe he could surprise his partner with something this evening.

 

“Alright,” Sportacus gave up, “then I’ll come back here later.”

 

A splendid idea. Robbie could pull a few strings to set up a little something that they’d both like.

 

There was something however, that he needed to get off his chest, now.

“Hey, Sportacus!” he called back after him before he disappeared.

The man stopped by the exit. “Yes?”

Robbie braced himself, he could do this. “I love you.”

Sportacus brows disappeared under the rim of his hat. “Oh,” he grinned, “I know.” In a blink he was right in front of Robbie again, too close to focus and Robbie felt himself become cross-eyed. “I love you too,” he said and peppered his lips with small kisses and rubbed their noses together fondly. “I’ll see you later, okay?” 

Robbie was lost for words and could only nod in affirmation.

“Great,” he smiled wide and bounced away to scurry up the ladder.

 

With the sound of the door slammed shut, Robbie brought the letter up to his face and squealed, kicking his legs out in unadulterated glee.

 

When he’d calmed and come down from his elevated state enough, he slumped back against the backrest of the chair, a big smile still playing on his lips.

With a sigh he discarded the bill. It could wait, he had more important things to deal with.

Robbie picked up the phone and dialled. The ringing tone went on forever and he was just about to put it back down again when the receiver finally picked up.

“Hello mom,” he said. They hadn’t spoken in years, not since she moved to Spain… or wherever it was again.

“I’m fine, no I don’t need anything, it’s great, really…”

“Mom, I need to ask you something, it’s about dad… No, not Mr. Prosper, I mean _my_ dad…”

 

 

 

“What do you mean _about_ _damn time?!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad that I decided on a whim to start writing this and put it on 'paper' and not let it be more than a jumble of ideas in my head and a collection of odd sketches -which I will post on my tumblr now that there are no more spoilers.
> 
> Thank you everyone who has read, given kudos, and for all these lovely comments and feedback that has kept me going since the very start.
> 
> Before I begin on a sequel, I have other projects going on that I need to finish up (People of the Mounds) and I still need to figure out where to start with the next installment.
> 
> I love these characters in this version too much to abandon them, aka the old geezer Íþró, who ended up being my fav to write.
> 
> Cheers and I'll see you around!


End file.
